


Maladjusted Geniuses and Mistaken Heroes

by lilsmartass



Series: First Impressions and Second Chances [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Asgardian Magic, Character Death, Gen, Steve and Tony slowly becoming friends, Violence, if that bothers you don't read, loki is a huge bag of dicks, mindfuckery, no really, references to Afghanistan, references to Steve's time as a capsicle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-02
Updated: 2013-12-13
Packaged: 2017-12-16 21:35:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 29,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/866866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilsmartass/pseuds/lilsmartass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary: The team is slowly healing and starting to come together, but surprise visit from Loki that forces Tony and Steve to depend on one another may force both of them to give more than they are willing. Fourth part of First Impressions and Second Chances.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Steve

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kerravon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kerravon/gifts).



> Rating: PG-13
> 
> Disclaimer: Not mine unfortunately, though considering what I put them through, probably for the best.
> 
> Warning/Spoilers: ANGST, hurt Tony, hurt Steve, mindfuckery, swearing. On a more serious note, some of you will have noted this is warning for graphic violence and death, I don’t want to say anything more and ruin the surprise but I don’t want to stomp on anyone’s triggers either. If those things will upset you, this is probably not the fic for you, but please bear in mind, that not everything will be as it seems…
> 
> Genre: angst, hurt/comfort, gen, pre-slash (no, I’m still not announcing the pairing), slightly better friendship, though still not at the Avengers family stage yet.
> 
> Beta: Melpemone 
> 
> A/N: There has been an incredible (and flattering) outpouring of response for this series. In the past, I have always tried to respond to every single review, but the volume of comments for this is such that I really don’t have time any more. I will try to respond to as many as possible, and please know that every single comment is read and appreciated. Thank you so much. You may have also noticed there’s a meta community posted under ‘misconceptions’ which can be found at either my works page or at cauldronofdoom’s, feel free to comment or discuss there.
> 
> The chapter title of each chapter will tell you who the POV is as everyone gets to speak in this part.
> 
> The title can be credited to AnonEhouse and a very odd conversation about Blake’s 7 we had in one of the discussion threads for the original Iron Man Yes.
> 
> Gifted to Kerravon, who has done such a wonderful job of podficcing this series so far. Thank you so much for being willing to put that kind of time and energy into my work. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.

**Maladjusted Geniuses and Mistaken Heroes**

Steve pauses in the doorway. He’s not _watching_ Tony, because that would be creepy, as Tony would say - but the man has left the door wide open and he’s distracted, fussing with his cuffs and tie and posing in front of the mirror and, though they fight together flawlessly as allies, he still has no idea what to say to get his attention in private. Tony jumps when he turns and sees Steve standing there, before raising a brow and trying for nonchalance with a smirk. “Didn’t realise you were one of my devoted fans, Cap. I hope you arrived after I was dressed.”

“I hope you had the door shut before you were dressed,” Steve shoots back, relief totally disproportionate to the moment filling him when Tony doesn’t look taken aback or uncertain at the censure, but merely grins. It’s an empty media grin, but it’s better than nothing. “I just came up to find out if you’re ready. The car’s here.”

“You think taking the suit would be too much?”

Tony’s just as armoured in this suit as he is in his Iron Man costume, and this is much more appropriate to today’s battlefield. “Perhaps a little,” he says dryly.

“Yeah, there’s nothing worse than being overdressed,” Tony muses. “How come I have to go in SHIELD’s car? Can’t I take one of my own cool cars?”

Steve isn’t certain if Tony is being annoying because he’s nervous, or if he’s being deliberately obstructive. His mouth pinches slightly at the corners and, instead of responding to the question directly, he says, “You don’t have to do this, Tony. No one’s forcing you into anything. If you still don’t feel… safe around him, or-”

Tony hisses like a startled cat. “ _No_. Barton needs this. He was much less annoying when he was drinking too much and stealing zoo animals and making bad choices with live weaponry during simulations than he is now cooped up with nothing to do but hide out and shoot modified nerf weaponry at people. You do realise Pep somehow thinks it’s my fault he got yellow paint in her hair? I mean, okay, yes, I bought him the paint, but I didn’t know what he wanted it _for_ or I’d have made sure it was washable, or had JARVIS make sure it was washable, or something.”

Steve still isn’t convinced, and now he’s also confused, as he often is at the end of one of Tony’s monologues. Tony must see this, because he sighs. “He’s doing better,” he says, tone turning serious and eyes flitting away from Steve’s, as though to minimise the intensity of the moment. But Tony is right – Clint has been going to counselling, and he’s back on rotation – on probation, pending assessment.

Tony’s still talking. “The only reason he isn’t already back on the team is because the WSC are being dicks. Again. They’ve tried to have me kept off the team and that, mostly,” Steve looks away, even though Tony isn’t looking at him, “mostly didn’t work. They’ve tried having Bruce handed over and that didn’t work either. And now they’re after Clint for his involvement with Loki. Considering I’m one of the people he supposedly hurt my testimony counts. And we need him. You know we do.”

“Still,” Steve knows he looks awkward, “he did hurt you. And I don’t want you to feel that you have to-”

“I _don’t_. I promise.”

Steve gives him a searching look, and nods. “All right then. Thank you for doing this.”

“Anytime, Cap,” Tony says flippantly, but Steve’s used to him by now and doesn’t even acknowledge the tone.

*

Tony looks around the room, a feral edge to his smile and an undeniable crackle of energy to his step. Steve doesn’t blame him for the fury he’s radiating, he’s barely leashing his own, and beside him, Agent Coulson is as tense as one of Clint’s bow-strings, jaw clenched tight, though otherwise his expression betrays nothing.

There is no denying that, in the aftermath of Loki’s control, Clint had been less than the perfect soldier. But they had been assured that this was a review; Clint’s psychiatrist and Fury just wanted to talk to Tony, to have it on record his opinion that the matter was behind them.

Instead, the windowless conference room they have been packed into is full, screens at the far side display the watching WSC members and a fair amount of agents – observers, Steve has been told – are crowded against one wall. In the middle of the room, Clint is standing. He’s not alone; Natasha had refused to be moved from his side. Not that Fury had tried that hard, in fact, if Steve didn’t know better, he’d say the man was pleased. He’d like to be up there himself, but Agent Coulson had held him back, whispering, “Natasha is an expert at looking nonthreatening, Captain, they will tolerate her, and mentally think of her as nothing but the overly clingy girlfriend. Your obvious support can do nothing but make this unpleasant situation worse.”

Steve had acquiesced, though he wasn’t happy about it. Tony had not. He’d been standing next to Steve and he’d taken time from his contemptuous survey of the room to shoot Coulson a hard look. “This is not the informal review I was promised.”

Agent Coulson had – almost – smiled. “They are attempting to disconcert you.”

Steve had inhaled a laugh and ended up choking. Of all the things which might possibly disconcert Tony Stark, a larger than expected audience was not one of them. The two had shared a glance, in tune as they rarely were anywhere other than the battlefield. “Tony,” Steve had warned in an apologetic undertone, “don’t deliberately piss them off. We can’t-”

Tony had waved an airy hand, “We can’t risk them going after someone else. I know. You worry too much, Cap.”

“Just,” there had been so many things he wanted to say, but there were still too many unhealed wounds between them to risk it. “Just be careful.”

Tony nodded briskly, once, and strode into the centre of the room. Not next to Clint, almost in front of him, taking every eye (even the distrustful looks of the agents on the far side, even Natasha’s watchful gaze) off the archer. “You wanted to speak to me?” he had questioned brightly, masked in smug arrogance.

That had been over an hour ago.

The interrogation, because that’s what this is, has only gone downhill since then and Tony is obviously losing patience. Natasha, under the serene patience pasted onto her face, looks ready to draw blood.

“All right,” Tony bites out, irritation in every syllable. Taking his eyes from the WSC members on the screens in front of him, he turns instead to the watching crowd. “Let’s see how reasonable Agent Barton’s actions were. Hands up who here has ever wanted to punch me in the mouth.”

There’s utter silence and stillness in the room. Agent Coulson snorts very quietly.

Tony continues, dark annoyance threading his tone now. “C’mon! I know SHIELD agents are trained to lie, but this is ridiculous. I know some of you must. What about you? Yeah, you, with the picture of the hot wife? Daughter? Sister? On your desk. You didn’t want to smack me when you saw me looking? Or you, Agent? When I made you use your hero’s shield to prop up a pipe just to piss you off?” Still nobody moves… then slowly, Agent Sitwell raises a hand.

“I kind of want to punch you now?” he offers.

“Good,” Tony beams, “That’s exactly my point. I’m annoying.”

“Mr Stark, that is hardly the point of this hearing.”

Tony’s face darkens at the word hearing, because this should not be trial, but he doesn’t allow himself to be distracted. “That’s _exactly_ the point. The aim here is to find out if Clint acted outside of tolerable parameters, or if his actions are forgivable.” Tony shrugs. “Personally, since it’s my face that got bruised, I don’t see what any of you have to do with it. I never had a problem with his actions, but whatever. _How_ ever, we have now proven that whilst Clint was rash in actually going through with it, the impulse to bash my face in is not an abnormal one.” He pauses, and raises his eyebrow at the scowling woman onscreen. “Or, if it is, it’s a normal impulse with which you are familiar.”

Steve stifles a chuckle, and doesn’t miss Natasha half turning to share a smirk with Coulson.

The room goes quiet for a second, before a different council member speaks up. “That may be so, Stark, but we are all capable of keeping that impulse under control. If Agent Barton is not, he has no place in a highly sensitive elite force such as the Avengers.”

Tony smiles, coldly, and walks over to where Steve is sitting. He bends down to pick up Coulson’s briefcase before striding back across the floor. He stands directly in front of Clint, angled in such a way that both his own face and Clint’s are hidden from most of the room. “All right, Agent Barton,” he says, voice pitched to carry, but intense in a way Steve can’t name. “This is a normal briefcase. High quality, leather, no steel or lead lining and, judging by the weight, full of paper.”

“Ooooookay,” Clint says uncertainly.

“Punch it.”

“What?”

“As hard as you can, Agent Barton. Punch it.” Tony holds the case up at chest height.

Beside him, Coulson moves slightly, and this time, understanding where Tony is going with this, it is Steve who moves to keep him in his seat. Steve leans close to whisper, “A few broken fingers we can fix, even for an archer. But Clint pulled his punches that night. This will prove it.”

It seems Clint has grasped what Stark is trying to prove as well. He straightens and braces himself, before pulling his hand back and socking it straight into the centre of the target. There is an unpleasant crunching sound and a few of the junior agents collectively wince. Neither Clint nor Natasha so much as flicker.

Tony turns around to display the now cracked and dented briefcase to the council, Fury, and an all-but-salivating audience. “He barely touched me. I had a little surface bruising, nothing like this sort of damage. Okay, he was less in control than Agent Sitwell is now, but that’s a personality thing. I think we can all agree that, for example, I’m a little less controlled than Captain Rogers. It’s just one of my many charms.”

The council members are all scowling now. Tony’s expression can only be described as gleeful. The most terrifying thing is how well it matches the gleam in Fury’s eye. One of them leans forward and says coldly, “That still doesn’t excuse the incident which brought down a building and nearly killed both yourself and Captain Rogers.”

“The building was scheduled for demolition anyway,” Tony points out, hand coming up to casually cover the blue glow in his chest. “And I have maintained since I was discharged from Medical that if I were permitted to review the weapon’s stats there will certainly be an underlying technical issue exacerbating Barton’s actions. Justin Hammer’s weaponry isn’t known for its reliability.”

The council member opens his mouth to retort, but is cut off as a buzz of static sounds and all the screens blink off as one. Tony blinks at the now empty air. “What?” he says blankly.

Fury is poking at a control panel at the front of the room and makes a soft noise that could mean anything from ‘I’ve found the problem, give me a second,’ to ‘this is completely destroyed and will never work again.’ Tony elbows him out of the way and peers at the panel himself, apparently oblivious to the look of mingled rage, exasperation and amusement Fury is levelling at his back.

“This is…” he says caustically, before breaking off and looking awkwardly around for a moment.

“Problem, Stark?” Fury growls and Tony abruptly seems to remember that he just shoved past one of the most dangerous men in the world.

“He…I…” Tony uncharacteristically prevaricates.

It’s Natasha who speaks up, her cool voice cutting cleanly across the chatter that had broken out in the wake of Tony’s uncharacteristic hesitance. “It’s Hammer tech, sir. I don’t know what you were expecting other than wide spread system failure.”

Tony brightens. “Thus proving my earlier point,” he says, to the room at large.

Fury scowls, quieting the few chuckles with his glare. “Can you fix it?” he asks the engineer.

Tony shrugs carelessly. “Sure. But I don’t see why I should. You didn’t want my interface before now.”

Fury rolls his eye, “I’m sorry,” he says, sarcasm dripping from every syllable, “How could I possibly malign your technological brilliance. Nothing anybody else makes could even be on par with the ideas you reject as too inefficient. May we please have Starktech?”

Tony beams sunnily. “Well, since you put it like that. Let me try and deal with this cascade problem before we have any more system failures and I’ll see about installing something that actually works next week.”

Which is, of course, when all the lights go out.

“Stark…” Fury begins.

There is the distinct sound of a hand hitting a control panel. “Hey, it’s not me. I didn’t do this. I can’t be blamed for Hammer’s substandard workmanship,” says Tony’s distracted voice, before it tails off into a mumble of swearing and half articulated possibilities.

Steve moves in tandem with Agent Coulson, threading his way through the room of muttering agents to Clint and Natasha’s side. He doesn’t push nearer to Tony, not wanting to distract him. Bruce has no such compunctions; his dark shape is already hunched next to Tony’s. There’s a moment of rustling then then the pair are illuminated in an eerie blue light as Tony opens his shirt.

In the pitiful glow from the Arc reactor, Steve glances around the room. Everyone in it is battle ready, still and wary. Many have their weapons drawn. He, Natasha and Coulson have instinctively formed a three pointed triangle surrounding the weaponless Clint.

Even so, it takes a second for them to see and recognise the intruder. Silence spreads through the room like ripples in a pond. Clint makes a choked low sound that in anyone else would be a whimper of fear.

The look on Loki’s face can only be described as amused, as he regards them all calmly.


	2. Tony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: The team is slowly healing and starting to come together, but surprise visit from Loki that forces Tony and Steve to depend on one another may force both of them to give more than they are willing. Fourth part of First Impressions and Second Chances.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG-13  
> Disclaimer: Not mine unfortunately, though considering what I put them through, probably for the best.  
> Warning/Spoilers: ANGST, hurt Tony, hurt Steve, mindfuckery, swearing. On a more serious note, some of you will have noted this is warning for graphic violence and death, I don’t want to say anything more and ruin the surprise but I don’t want to stomp on anyone’s triggers either. If those things will upset you, this is probably not the fic for you, but please bear in mind, that not everything will be as it seems…  
> Genre: angst, hurt/comfort, gen, pre-slash (no, I’m still not announcing the pairing), slightly better friendship, though still not at the Avengers family stage yet.  
> Beta: Melpemone   
> A/N: There has been an incredible (and flattering) outpouring of response for this series. In the past, I have always tried to respond to every single review, but the volume of comments for this is such that I really don’t have time any more. I will try to respond to as many as possible, and please know that every single comment is read and appreciated. Thank you so much. You may have also noticed there’s a meta community posted under ‘misconceptions’ which can be found at either my works page or at cauldronofdoom’s, feel free to comment or discuss there.  
> The chapter title of each chapter will tell you who the POV is as, like in Cuts & Bruises, this has a rotating POV.  
> The title can be credited to AnonEhouse and a very odd conversation about Blake’s 7 we had in one of the discussion threads for the original Iron Man Yes.  
> Gifted to Kerravon, who has done such a wonderful job of podficcing this series so far. Thank you so much for being willing to put that kind of time and energy into my work. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.

**Maladjusted Geniuses and Mistaken Heroes**

 

The silence dawns on Tony first. He suddenly realises his own half-audible mumbling is the only sound. Then he notices that Bruce isn’t paying attention to him. He looks up, half irritated and half amused, a sarcastic retort already on his lips, and sees everyone in the room standing perfectly still, in tableau, faces and weapons all aimed at one single figure standing alone in the centre of the room. The figure has a clear ring of space around it, as though nobody dares to get too near.

He squints. His night vision isn’t fantastic, and standing directly behind and above the light in his chest , Tony is half blinded by the glare. But he doesn’t need to be able to see the silhouette - he recognises it clearly enough, when it cants its head at one figure in the centre of a cluster and says, in a melodious but carrying voice, “Did you miss me, Little Bird?”

Tony hisses between his teeth, taking an instinctive step back and away and colliding with Bruce. One of the other figures in the cluster peels away, standing squarely and unambiguously in front of the one Loki addressed. From somewhere to Tony’s left, Nick Fury’s voice rings out. “We thought you were on Asgard.”

Tony recognises the distraction technique for what it is, as a group of agents directly behind Loki begin slowly and steadily edging into better positions, but it works as Loki laughs. An unpleasant sound, it’s the aural equivalent of being dragged over gravel and Tony cringes at the noise. “With my _beloved brother_ grubbing down here with you worms, it was easy enough to charm my way out of my bonds. Stay still!” This last is uttered at the agents behind him. He gestures sharply, and they freeze into the unnatural stillness of statues. Tony fucking hates magic.

The heavy tread of boots herald Fury stepping boldly into the middle of the room. “Now what? Another army? More lives wasted?”

“Not my life.” Loki turns, long hair swishing about his face in misty tendrils. “Where is my brother?”

“I am here, Loki.” Thor’s distinctive figure moves from the back of the room. His hands are empty and Tony curses that he had left Mjolnir behind. Summoning the hammer will take time, time they might not have.

Loki’s posture sharpens, focussed intently and completely on Thor, the rest of them becoming irrelevant. Tony gives a shark smile; it is to Loki’s detriment that he still hasn’t learned how dangerous the Avengers are. He can feel Bruce shuddering behind him, complex emotions threatening to rip his frame apart, but even Tony, pro-Hulk as he is, cannot deny that letting him loose here, in a room packed with (somewhat) innocent bystanders, is a horrible idea. He touches his bicep in a way meant to reassure, and Bruce grabs him by the wrist with greater than human strength.

Tony doesn’t cry out, because drawing Loki’s attention to him and Bruce honestly frightens him more than a couple of shattered bones , but he does wrench free, taking a small step sideways with a barely whispered “Sorry.”

With the creepy sixth sense for where everyone of his team is on any given battlefield, or maybe just because the only light in the room is moving, Steve’s head comes up, locking eyes with Tony. For a second, they are the only two not looking at where Loki and Thor are locked into an Asgardian standoff. Then Steve takes a step forward, close enough to get a blow in, not quite shoulder to shoulder with Thor, and Tony does what he does best. He starts talking.

“Can’t believe you’re back, Reindeer Games, I thought we’d shown you what a bad idea this was the last time. You do know the definition of insanity, right? It’s repeating the same action over and over again whilst expecting a different outcome. Though, I have looked into your eyes and let me tell you, you’ve got some serious crazy eyes going on there, so maybe the definition of insanity isn’t really all that relevant to you.” He’s walking forward as he babbles and everyone who can move bodily swivels to stare at him. His skin prickles, not because he’s the centre of attention, he’s used to that, but because he’s the centre of attention in a room full of nervous trained killers and a sociopathic demi god and he has a fucking beacon strapped to his chest.

Loki’s attention is wholly on him now and - out of the corner of his eye, because he is fighting to keep looking at Loki, fighting not to let the mad god know there is anything but him to see – he can see Thor and Steve readying themselves.

Loki raises a hand towards him. “Impudent mortal,” he says, soft and teasing, and there’s a crackle of violet energy in his palm.

There’s a cry of half plea and half rage, and Clint wrenches himself from behind Natasha and barrels into Loki, bearing them both to the floor. The beam of purple light goes wide and everyone ducks as it zings around the room, coming to a stop as it ploughs directly into Fury’s shoulder. He folds to the ground without a sound.

For a heartbeat there’s silence once again. Then, Loki is back on his feet, snarling and laughing and clearly braced to fight, and Maria Hill is giving orders in a clear voice with a note of command that expects to be obeyed.

It’s pandemonium. The only light in the room is the gleam of the Arc reactor and Loki’s brightly coloured spells, both of which are moving about like crazed disco lighting as Tony ducks and weaves and tries not to get shot by anyone holding a conventional weapon and Loki fires spells in every direction. There’s only one of him, he has no fear of collateral damage. Abruptly he finds himself boxed against a wall by Clint and Steve. “This is a nightmare, Cap,” he says, unthinking. “We can’t achieve anything like this.” He is seriously never going anywhere without the suitcase armour ever again.

Steve doesn’t answer. Instead, another figure appears out of the gloom, unsettlingly close. “Nightmare?” says Loki’s taunting voice. “If you wish, Man of Iron.”

There is a puff of blue, like a bad special effect in a low budget pantomime, and abruptly everything changes.

*

When Tony opens his eyes, his first impression is of dust, a blistering heat, and a scouring wind that feels like it’s taking off layers of his skin. For a moment his eyes flutter shut, his head is pounding and his stomach is churning and he _does not remember_ drinking enough to feel this awful, then the reality of what he is seeing sets in. He wakes fully and staggers to his feet, pure fear burning away the lingering sickness. He’s staring at the desert he was lost in. His heart thunders painfully in his chest, thudding against the base of the Arc reactor and leaving him short of breath. He clamps both hands over the gleaming reactor and, for a second, he’s certain he can smell the dirty tank water and hear the jeering laughter.

Someone grabs him from behind and he whirls with a snarl, lashing out ineffectually out of reflex. His foot slides in the smooth sand and he’s falling - but before he can do more than pinwheel his arms helplessly, Steve has grabbed him once again and pulled him back up onto his feet. “Careful,” he says, voice light and completely at odds with the pinched expression around his eyes. “You don’t want to slip in this snow, if you get wet, you’ll f-freeze.”

The slight stutter in Steve’s voice makes Tony pause, looking up at him as though cataloguing for injury or distress, and he abruptly realises how stupid it is for him to be looking for problems in others when he can barely breathe he’s so terrified. Then, what Steve had actually said penetrates. “Snow?”

Steve looks at him in concern, and takes one hand off his arms to start carding through his hair as though checking for a head wound. “That is still what they call this white stuff right?”

Tony doesn’t shrug off the probing hand. It’s comforting him more than he would ever admit to. He does turn slightly under it to survey the landscape around him. Nope, it definitely wasn’t a hallucination, or if it is, it’s vivid and on-going. He’s standing in a desert. He can already feel his shirt sticking unpleasantly to him with sweat. He takes a deep breath, steeling himself and forcing his body to stillness, and then ducks out from under Steve’s questioning hand. “I’m fine, Cap. You sure you didn’t hit your head? I don’t see any snow.”

Steve’s concerned look deepens and he waves at the area surrounding them. “Tony…there’s only snow. Wherever Loki transported us we’re somewhere cold. Siberia maybe… or Russia?”

“Uh, no. We’re in a desert. Looks like Afghanistan.”

They are both silent for a long moment. Steve’s lip juts as he considers this and then he says in his irritatingly reasonable way, “If we’re in a desert, why are you shivering?”

Tony flinches. He’d forgotten the hand Steve still had resting protectively on his bicep, and obviously hadn’t been as successful in quelling his body’s reaction as he would have hoped. “I don’t have good memories of Afghanistan,” he bites out, forcing himself to look out over the endless sand, instead of at the pity he knows will be on Steve’s face. God, he wants Rhodey. Rhodey had found him last time; maybe he’ll find him this time. But he knows that’s a futile hope. Wherever Loki has transported them, it’s unlikely to be somewhere the Air Force can just come and pick them up.

“I get that,” says Steve softly, and Tony turns unthinkingly to look at him, having forgotten what he’d just said. “I don’t do well with cold either.”

Tony suddenly realises that Steve’s large frame is shaking, whether it’s cold or fear is irrelevant. He pulls off his own shirt before it gets any more disgusting and goes to hand it to Steve. “Here, you may as well have this, it’s hot where I am,” before he pulls it back examining it. It’s a generic black T-shirt, he owns a dozen just like it and it fits him perfectly which means it’ll be too tight across Steve’s broad shoulders. It’s not however, his. Nor is it the suit he was wearing when he left the tower earlier. He looks down at himself. His lower half is encased in jeans, again, not unusual, but these jeans aren’t torn or smeared with oil. He looks across at Steve, who, he notices for the first time, is wearing exactly the same as he is. “Where are we?” he wonders aloud.

Steve looks pinched and unhappy as he glances around. “Well, nowhere on earth. I can’t see what you’re seeing, but it seems like we’re in two places at once.”

“Which is actually stupid when you think about it. No planet, or whatever the hell Thor calls them… realm, works like that because it’s ridiculous and physically impossible.”

“Well, not impossible,” Steve points out. “This is definitely arctic as far as I’m concerned. If you’re sure you’re seeing a desert…?”

His voice trails off, but Tony waves away his objections. “It’s still impossible, and stupid. This is the kind of shit only magic could pull. I bet we’re in some kind of magic bubble right now.”

“Magic bubble?”

“Well sure, why not. It’s not any stupider than a place that’s sand when I look at it and snow when you do.”

Steve shrugs. “I guess. How does that help us?”

“Well… it probably means that there’s nothing else here. And it probably means that it doesn’t matter which direction we start walking in. Magic must have _some_ rules, some logic. I bet this is like a video game. It takes less memory space to reproduce the same landscapes over and over again so that’s what you get. It’ll all look just like this.”

Steve gives another shudder that Tony bets has nothing to do with whatever cold he’s feeling. “That’s not actually at all helpful.”

It’s Tony’s turn to shrug. “Best I’ve got.” He waves the T-shirt he’s still holding at Steve. “You should put this on. It’ll be tight but…”

“Yeah, thanks.” Steve takes the cloth and wastes no time wrestling himself into it. “So which way do you want to go?”

“You really think we can’t sit here and wait for rescue?”

“Do you think the others will have any idea where to rescue us from?”

Tony rubs a hand over his jaw. He’s not even sure the others will still be _alive_. The battle had been becoming pretty intense. He’s not about to say that to Steve though, there’s nothing either of them can do about it, and acknowledging the possibility just makes it more real. “We need to find Loki. If this is a… a bubble or something similar, it must at least have walls. It doesn’t matter which way we go, but we have to go straight and keep going that way.” Tony surveys his own terrain. “What I’m looking at is all flat, no obvious road blocks, but the wind’s coming from that way. I’d rather keep that to my back if possible, keep the sand out of my eyes.”

Steve nods and also looks around. “Mine’s the same, flat. Wind’s coming from over there though. Doesn’t make as much difference to me so we’ll keep the wind at your back.”

Tony nods and they start walking. They haven’t gone more than a few steps when Tony’s foot collides with something mostly buried in the sand and he goes down.

“Tony!” Steve says in alarm.

Tony doesn’t answer him. He’s too busy staring in horror at what he’s uncovered. It’s a small, perhaps only a foot long, but expertly crafted wooden puppet. It’s wearing the black T-shirt and jeans ensemble of the two of them. It’s also, unmistakably, Clint.


	3. Steve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: The team is slowly healing and starting to come together, but surprise visit from Loki that forces Tony and Steve to depend on one another may force both of them to give more than they are willing. Fourth part of First Impressions and Second Chances.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG-13  
> Disclaimer: Not mine unfortunately, though considering what I put them through, probably for the best.  
> Warning/Spoilers: ANGST, hurt Tony, hurt Steve, mindfuckery, swearing. On a more serious note, some of you will have noted this is warning for graphic violence and death, I don’t want to say anything more and ruin the surprise but I don’t want to stomp on anyone’s triggers either. If those things will upset you, this is probably not the fic for you, but please bear in mind, that not everything will be as it seems…  
> Genre: angst, hurt/comfort, gen, pre-slash (no, I’m still not announcing the pairing), slightly better friendship, though still not at the Avengers family stage yet.  
> Beta: Melpemone   
> A/N: There has been an incredible (and flattering) outpouring of response for this series. In the past, I have always tried to respond to every single review, but the volume of comments for this is such that I really don’t have time any more. I will try to respond to as many as possible, and please know that every single comment is read and appreciated. Thank you so much. You may have also noticed there’s a meta community posted under ‘misconceptions’ which can be found at either my works page or at cauldronofdoom’s, feel free to comment or discuss there.  
> The chapter title of each chapter will tell you who the POV is as, like in Cuts & Bruises, this has a rotating POV.  
> The title can be credited to AnonEhouse and a very odd conversation about Blake’s 7 we had in one of the discussion threads for the original Iron Man Yes.  
> Gifted to Kerravon, who has done such a wonderful job of podficcing this series so far. Thank you so much for being willing to put that kind of time and energy into my work. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.

**Maladjusted Geniuses and Mistaken Heroes**

“What the fuck?” Steve blurts out, and raises an eyebrow when Tony can’t quite restrain a smirk. “What?”

“I’ve never heard you swear before.”

“I swear,” Steve objects, feeling strangely offended. “Just not… you know. In company.”

“What? You sit all alone in your room saying dirty words?”

“Is this actually relevant right now?”

Tony’s eyes drop to the puppet he’s cradling in his hands and his expression turns serious. “I guess not.”

Steve leans forward to take the thing out of Tony’s hands and, though he turns to watch sharply, Tony doesn’t actually resist. Steve turns it over, examining the exquisite detail on the figure with an artist’s eye. “This is actually very good - sinister and weird, but very good.”

Tony doesn’t answer, and Steve looks down to find the man still sitting in a pile of snow, looking around the frozen wasteland. He winces, because even though he knows Stark is seeing a desert right now, seeing him sitting, shirtless, in a snowdrift, just looks uncomfortable.

“Do you think the others are here?” Tony asks before he can say anything, dark eyes fixed intently on Steve.

“What?” Steve’s far from stupid and he bristles at the look Tony gives him.

“Cap, we’re in a magical place that I think is sand, and you think is ice. We just happened upon a Clint doll. The last person we saw was Loki. I think we can safely say that’s actually Clint you’re holding.  Do you think the others are here too?”

Steve almost drops the puppet, which suddenly feels far too fragile in his superpowered hands. Even the slightest pressure will crush it, crush _Clint_ , to sawdust. But Tony’s words do make a frightening amount of sense.

Steve scans over the landscape, but he can see nothing but endless driving white. Not that that means anything. He hadn’t been able to see Clint either, buried as he had been. That image floods his mind unrelentingly, and the thought of one of his friends trapped, helplessly, under layers of burning ice sends his stomach churning and bile rushing to fill his mouth.

He drops the puppet. Stark gives a strangled cry and manages to catch it, but Steve barely notices. He’s on his hands and knees, control only lasting long enough to put his shoulder to Tony, so the other man can’t see, as he drops his head and vomits. 

He keeps doing so until his throat feels burned, raw and sour and his stomach hurts from the effort to expel what it doesn’t actually have and looks up when he feels a tentative hand clasp over his shoulder. He spits weakly and looks up. Tony is watching him, crouched on his haunches, one hand keeping Clint to his chest and the other resting lightly on Steve. “I’m okay,” Steve says, reaching out with still-shaking hand for a fistful of snow and using it to clean his mouth out. Tony grimaces as he does it, and Steve supposes that it looks as strange for Tony to see him eating sand as it did for him to see Tony sitting in the snow. “I’m fine.”

Tony nods. “You look fine. This is personally my definition of fine.” He pauses and considers, “Okay, actually, that’s a bit too true for sarcasm. I would totally say I was fine if I was vomiting so hard it hurt so long as that happened during, or after, an awesome party and a record breaking amount of booze. Anyway, since you’re in a Winter Wonderland, I’m guessing not heat stroke, so…you want to tell me what that was about?”

“Nothing,” Steve wipes the back of his hand across his mouth and spits again.

Tony compresses his lips and visibly struggles with himself. “No. Not good enough. We’re stuck in crazy town and we need to be able to rely on each other. I need to know what side effects from Loki’s mad dimension you have.”

“It’s not-” Steve begins, and Tony looks furious. He holds up a placating hand. “It’s nothing like that. I just don’t like the thought of Clint. Under the ice like that.” _Like me._

A wave of understanding passes over Tony’s face. “Oh. All right then. Fair enough.”

Steve takes a moment to continue kneeling there, face in shaking hand, the taste of snow in his mouth making his stomach roll lazily again, and Tony’s warm strong hand on his shoulder. Then, he forces himself to his feet. “I don’t think… I don’t _think_ there will be any of the rest of us here unless Loki brought them later. It was just the three of us when he,” he wiggles his fingers in a gesture Steve hopes Tony knows means magic, “wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, but… we have no idea how long we’ve been here, Cap. We could be outside of normal time completely, a second for us being centuries back… home.”

Steve swallows down the need to be sick again. He can’t be thrown out of time again, he _can’t_. It’s still hard enough. “Well, we can only work with the information we have,” he says, his voice not quite completely steady. Something Tony has noticed judging by his sharp look, but it’s the best he can manage. “We know there are three of us here. You think there have to be sides to this place. Let’s find one.”

Tony regards him for a long moment, but he knows that ultimately there isn’t another option. It is this, or sit around and wait. Tony sighs and hoists Clint into a more comfortable position against his sweat slicked back. “Aye aye, sir.”

*

They walk. Steve has done his share of long marches before, but this is worse than most. It’s boring because, as Tony had earlier suggested it would be, the landscape is featureless. There is literally nothing of interest, or even difference, to look at; and with Tony to consider, he can’t move fast enough to get his blood pumping to keep warm. He can feel the icy cold of the wind sinking deeper and deeper into him. He refuses even to acknowledge that it’s not cold wrapping icy tendrils around his heart. He finds himself looking sideways at Tony several times, envying the obvious over heating evident in his red face and the way he’s literally dripping sweat, hair more than damp.

At last Tony staggers to a stop and bends over, hands on knees, Clint dangling from limp fingers, breathing deeply. “We need to find a source of water, Cap,” he says and Steve is simultaneously appalled at how wrecked and raspy his voice sounds, as though he has sand in his throat instead of saliva, and guilty that he didn’t realise that himself. Water is always the first consideration in a survival situation.

“Why didn’t you say something earlier?” he demands, and winces. That wasn’t what he had intended to say. It’s his responsibility to look after his team, _his_ duty to realise what they need and to provide it. But he is tense and stressed and frightened and so cold it feels like a physical pain.

Tony favours Steve with a rueful expression. “I thought this place might be smaller. I thought we might have found a wall by now.”

“Still,” Steve says.

Tony straightens and widens his deprecating smirk. “Would it really have made any difference? There’s nothing here, and I doubt Loki programmed an oasis into his Iron Man and Captain America storage tank.” 

Steve looks around himself. He’s literally surrounded by snow. “Water, water everywhere,” he mutters.

Tony looks at him sideways, and then his face clears. “I wish I could be where you are,” he says, trying for joking and just sounding dehydrated.

Steve nods absently. If they could just switch places, at least they wouldn’t have their respective mental traumas to worry about. He plucks absently at his shirt. The shirt Tony gave him. “Maybe I can bring water back from my…perspective to yours,” Steve suggests slowly, bending to scoop up a good sized fistful of snow.

Tony looks at it and raises his eyes to Steve’s. “Sorry Cap, it just looks like a handful of sand to me.”

He sounds genuinely apologetic. Steve’s fingers convulse against the snow and trickles of icy water run between his fingers. He curls his lip, scowling and furious and half tempted to hurl the snowball as far as he can with a scream just because he’s so frustrated. He has to admit, he’s never been like Tony and Bruce, hating magic on principle because it interfered with the laws which defined their lives. He always thought it was kind of cool that magic was real. But right now he hates it with a burning passion that he would bet outclasses anything even the Hulk had ever felt. He hates that he’s holding a handful of water that only he can perceive while Tony dehydrates in front of him.

Then something clicks in his brain, and he looks at what he is holding and then out again at the white landscape, vision slightly obscured by a few stray flakes in the breeze. _Magic. Perception._ “Do you believe that I can see snow?” he asks hesitantly.

“…Yeah. I mean, that’s a fairly stupid lie, Cap. Of course I believe you see something I don’t. And you couldn’t possibly be wearing both those shirts where I am. You’d boil.”

Steve nods. “In fairy tales, a lot of magic is about perception and belief. Can you trust that I’m holding out something you can drink and just… wish it?”

For a second, Tony looks intrigued by the possibilities. “Maybe,” he says hesitantly.

“Well… look, we’ll test it. If I end up with a mouthful of sand, no problem. I’ve got plenty of water.”

Tony nods and bends himself, scooping up a handful of what Steve can still only see as fresh white snow in his Clint-free hand. “Now what?”

Steve swallows, and steps close to him. “Hold it up a bit. Okay, yeah there.” He closes his eyes, sequestering himself behind closed lids and imagining sand as hard as he can, believing in what Tony can see more than he believes in the frigid puddle of slush he’s standing in. Then he dips his head and touches his tongue to the stuff in Tony’s palm. It’s gritty and sun-warmed and tastes like dirt and he’s never been so pleased in his life. “It worked!” he says, spitting hard. Tony still looks unsure, “Come on, Tony,” Steve cajoles, feeling the now-familiar flip-flop in his heart that always happens when he’s confronted with a reminder that Tony has every reason to distrust him. “I wouldn’t mess with you about this. You know I wouldn’t.” He just hopes Tony _does_ know.

Still, the plea works. Tony nods stiffly and grips Steve’s wrist, raising his hand to where he wants it. “What do I do?”

“Close your eyes. It’s easier when you can’t see it and… believe what I’m telling you. It’s snow, it’s just snow.”

Tony dips his head and does the same tentative tongue touch Steve had just done. Unlike Steve, he doesn’t immediately pull back. Instead he groans, deep and relieved and quickly finishes the rest of what Steve is holding. Steve wars with instincts telling him to remind Tony to melt it in his mouth or he’ll lower his core temperature too quickly and the knowledge that, for Tony, he is standing in arid, unforgiving heat. “Another?” he asks instead.

Tony rears back, breathing heavily. “Please.” It’s weird and strangely intimate having Tony drink from his cupped hands, and Steve is abruptly mortified to discover that he’s flushing brightly for no good reason. He turns his face away, feigning looking out over the by now too familiar snowscape when Tony pulls back for the second time. “Thanks,” says Tony, pulling back and taking a step away to re-establish personal space once more.

Steve clears his throat. “No problem. Done?”

“Yeah. For now.” They stand in awkward silence. “Shall we?” Tony cocks his head.

Steve nods quickly. “Let’s go.”


	4. Tony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: The team is slowly healing and starting to come together, but surprise visit from Loki that forces Tony and Steve to depend on one another may force both of them to give more than they are willing. Fourth part of First Impressions and Second Chances.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG-13
> 
> Disclaimer: Not mine unfortunately, though considering what I put them through, probably for the best.
> 
> Warning/Spoilers: ANGST, hurt Tony, hurt Steve, mindfuckery, swearing. On a more serious note, some of you will have noted this is warning for graphic violence and death, I don’t want to say anything more and ruin the surprise but I don’t want to stomp on anyone’s triggers either. If those things will upset you, this is probably not the fic for you, but please bear in mind, that not everything will be as it seems…
> 
> Genre: angst, hurt/comfort, gen, pre-slash (no, I’m still not announcing the pairing), slightly better friendship, though still not at the Avengers family stage yet.
> 
> Beta: Melpemone 
> 
> A/N: There has been an incredible (and flattering) outpouring of response for this series. In the past, I have always tried to respond to every single review, but the volume of comments for this is such that I really don’t have time any more. I will try to respond to as many as possible, and please know that every single comment is read and appreciated. Thank you so much. You may have also noticed there’s a meta community posted under ‘misconceptions’ which can be found at either my works page or at cauldronofdoom’s, feel free to comment or discuss there.
> 
> The chapter title of each chapter will tell you who the POV is as, like in Cuts & Bruises, this has a rotating POV.
> 
> The title can be credited to AnonEhouse and a very odd conversation about Blake’s 7 we had in one of the discussion threads for the original Iron Man Yes.
> 
> Gifted to Kerravon, who has done such a wonderful job of podficcing this series so far. Thank you so much for being willing to put that kind of time and energy into my work. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.
> 
> Also a massive apology for the lateness of this chapter. Work has been absolutely insane and this was the best I could manage, with luck our regular posting schedule will resume next week.

**Maladjusted Geniuses and Mistaken Heroes**

“Steve?” Tony says after a while, planning on blaming the heat for the vulnerability he can hear in his tone. The super soldier only grunts to show that he’s listening, and Tony casts a worried look over him. He feels like he’s boiling, but with Steve’s discovery of being able to pass at least water through whatever magical barrier Loki’s set up with the power of _wishing_ (which is fucking stupid, and defies about seven scientific principles) at least he doesn’t have to worry about dehydrating. Steve however, is only wearing two layers of black T-shirt and now sodden jeans. His skin has taken a very slight blue-to-lilac tinge. At least he’s still shivering, which means the danger isn’t imminent, but Tony’s worried. Still, he has to ask. “Steve, we _are_ going in a straight line, right? We have nothing to aim at, no points of reference, no compass. How do we know we’re not going in circles?”

Steve stops with a sigh. He looks on the brink of collapse; in fact, he looks so close to collapse that, completely without permission from his brain, Tony’s hands dart out to support him. It’s like touching marble, or ice. Steve’s _freezing_ , possibly literally at a cellular level, and it’s _weird_ , doesn’t compute at all through Tony’s brain to see him standing in a desert, under a roaring sun and feel that. He shrugs expansively, obviously too cold to try any of that Captain America everything’s-just-fine-stay-calm shit. “I don’t know. But I have faith Loki won’t just let us die. Not without turning up to gloat.”

That’s… actually a valid point. Of course Reindeer Games won’t just let them die quietly; of course he’ll want to make sure that they know just how beaten they are, how helpless. “Might as well keep going, then.”

Steve gives him a very tiny, crooked smile. “Getting tired? I can do this all day.”

That makes Tony’s brain suddenly click into gear. God _damn_ it. He’s supposed to be a genius. If his brain wasn’t so fried from this merciless heat, he’d have realised this hours ago. “The sun isn’t moving. It’s the same time it was when we got here.”

“I know.”

Tony huffs. “Well, thanks for sharing.”

“I thought you were a genius and already knew everything?”

Tony sticks his tongue out at him, but it’s good to see some life on Steve’s face. His cold-induced apathy has been making Tony nervous. Steve flicks him another smile, but this one is more strained, and Tony can see the shivers wracking his powerful frame. “Come on, let’s have a rest and try and get you warmed up.”

Steve looks doubtfully around himself. “How?”

“Body heat,” says Tony, trying to look like this is a reasonable, thought out survival suggestion, and not the start of half a dozen bad pornos. Whatever he might think of Steve’s enviable physique, Steve’s made it _perfectly_ clear that he’s not interested.

“I don’t know…”

“We have to try. You’re useless to me if you collapse on me. You’ll just be slowing me down then, because you know I won’t just leave you.” And yeah, it’s shitty to manipulate Steve like that, but it also works.

“What do you suggest? I don’t know if you remember but, as far as I’m concerned, this place is practically the North Pole.”

“We’ll do it the same way we did with the water,” Tony says, and tries to sound like he actually knows what he’s talking about and isn’t just making this up on the fly, “Close your eyes. No, wait, strip down a bit first. There’s no point trying to do this with you in dripping wet clothes.” Even if the idea of a T-shirt soaked in icy water _does_ sound like Tony’s idea of heaven right now.

Steve bites his lip and flushes lightly, but does as Tony asks, pulling off the T-shirts and the jeans so he’s wearing nothing but tight boxers. His shivering increases, and Tony shakes his head clear of the surreal image of Steve standing in the middle of a desert wearing virtually nothing because he knows that Steve feels like he’s in a blizzard.

“Right. Now shut your eyes and come here.” He takes hold of Steve’s hand, gingerly at first, and pulls him close. His heart is racing, pounding against the solid metal of the Arc reactor almost painfully. That, combined with the unease prickling across his skin, at least keeps his body from any unwanted reactions. He hates having people in his space, hates them touching him. There’s a scant handful of people he’d allow this close and, under normal circumstances, Steve is not one of them. His lips tighten in a hard line and he shuts his own eyes, trying not to think about what he’s doing. “Better.”

“Mmmmm,” Steve agrees. “A bit. Still feel like I’m standing in a snowdrift, but…”

“Focus on me,” Tony orders. “Focus on the fact that I’m boiling because I’m standing in a desert. A desert full of sand and sun and nothing else. Your clothes are here too. Drying. You shouldn’t be able to feel anything but sun.” He’s gone rigid in Steve’s arms and his voice is tight.

Steve doesn’t seem to notice. His forehead is scrunched up with concentration. “Yeah. Yeah that’s… it’s weird, actually. Like when someone turns up the thermostat and you can actually feel a room getting warmer.”

This time it’s Tony who makes a non-committal noise of agreement. He endures the embrace until Steve stops feeling good against him, like he’s pressing his over warmed body to a slab of ice and instead starts making him sweaty and sticky, then he steps back with a sigh of relief at an excuse to break the embrace. He hands Steve his clothes back and, for want of something to do, turns Clint over and over in his hands. “I did not expect that to actually work,” he admits, just to break the silence.

“I knew it would,” Steve says staunchly. “It was one of your ideas.”    

“I will remind you said that next time you tell me a plan is too reckless.”

Steve doesn’t respond, his forehead creased in thought once again. He motions for Tony to follow and starts walking, new determination in his step now that he’s not on the verge of freezing to death. “I wonder how far this ‘wishing for what we want’ goes. I mean, if we believe it hard enough can we believe the others are here into them being here?”

Tony shrugs moodily. “Wishing is a stupid way of organising a world’s physical laws,” he mutters. Steve gives him a sympathetic look, but he doesn’t _understand_ , not like Bruce would. He wishes for the other with an abrupt, all consuming, passion. The flare of longing passes as quickly as it comes, and he shrugs to himself before saying, “Apparently not.”

“What?” Steve blinks at him.

“Oh, you said-” Tony cuts himself off, possibly the least helpful thing to do in this scenario is to imply to Steve that he’d rather be with Bruce than with him. “Anyway, I wished for Bruce. Really hard. And nada. Besides, I bet Clint’s been wishing for Natasha since we got here.”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees wistfully. “It wouldn’t be like Loki to drop us somewhere where it was that easy.”

They lapse into silence. It’s not that Tony doesn’t agree with Steve - it’s that he just, for one of the few times in his adult life, has nothing to say. Just because he’s started accepting Steve’s guilt-ridden invitations to his bonding exercises without having to be physically dragged, he hasn’t got any common ground with Steve, any basis for casual conversation.

For a while, the silence lingers. Then: “I’m hungry,” says Steve.

The simple statement sets off a minor panic in Tony’s heat-exhausted mind. Tony is accustomed to going on little fluid and less food, but he knows that Steve’s metabolism means he won’t be able to endure hunger for long, not at this rate of energy expenditure. Slogging through sand – or snow – is hard work. “Maybe there’s…” he hesitates before he says penguins, the sudden memory of Clint’s gift flaring bright in his mind and making his fingers twitch over the archer’s tiny wooden arm, “something we can hunt?”

“Tony,” Steve sighs, “there isn’t even _night-time_ here, I don’t think Loki gave us game.”

“Aren’t you just a little ray of sunshine,” Tony mutters grumpily. Okay yes, it hadn’t been one of his better suggestions, but he was _trying_ to help.

The whipped puppy intense guilt springs back to Steve’s eyes and he reaches towards Tony, “Hey, Tony. I didn’t mean-”

Tony doesn’t even think, just lashing out, slapping his arm away. Somehow, probably because of the ice on his side, the super soldier’s feet shoot out from under him and he goes sprawling. Tony can’t help but chuckle - Steve looks like a turtle turned on its’ shell as he flails wildly in the golden sand.

When Steve gets back to his feet, the guilty look is gone, replaced instead by white-hot anger. “This Tony, _this_ is exactly _why_ this whole miscommunication mess happened!”

Tony opens his mouth to retort snidely, but checks himself, seeing the shivering that’s started up again, that Steve is once again trying to hide. He’s soaked to the bone once more, and there’s terror barely hidden under his fury. The smile drops off Tony’s face, and it’s his turn to look guilty and apologetic. “Shit, sorry Cap. I forgot about you and your,” he waves a hand, “cold… thing.”

Steve doesn’t soften. “It’s not like I do it for attention, Tony. The ice really bothers me, with good reason. It’s not funny, just like it wasn’t funny when you turned my shower cold.” His hand flies to his mouth as though to recall the words.

Tony can only blink. “When I… I didn’t! I know all about… hang ups and quirks and trauma and whatever. I wouldn’t!” 

Steve sighs and turns away, the anger bleeding out of him and leaving him looking small and slumped. “It’s okay. I know you didn’t mean anything by it, and I know we were kind of picking on you. But that,” he swallows, “it bothered me. Like this does.”

Tony looks out over his own arid landscape. Yeah, he understands. He starts to deny again that he had anything to do with Steve’s shower but suddenly remembers awkwardly taking responsibility for JARVIS’ attempts to protect him. Idly, he wonders if turning Steve’s shower cold counts as breaking Asimov’s first law of robotics and if this is the start of JARVIS’ slippery slope into becoming Skynet. Not that it makes any difference to him, stuck here. “Yeah. Sorry,” he says through a tight throat. “And sorry for laughing - though, to be fair, for me it looked a bit like you were wriggling about in a sand dune.”

Steve gives him a smile as fake as Tony’s own offerings to the media. “It’s fine.”

It’s obviously not, but Tony doesn’t know how to change that. “So, food?”

“I could eat you,” Steve says, tone still too serious to be truly joking.

Tony sputters and has to pretend he inhaled some sand in the air. “Yeah… Cap? That doesn’t mean what you think it means.”

Steve gives him a politely puzzled frown, but thankfully doesn’t ask.

“So, if you could have anything, what would you like to eat?”

“How does talking about it help?”

“Because if you don’t, you really will have my decomposing flesh to eat. I’m so bored I’m on the verge of strangling myself.”

“At this point… anything would be fine.”

“Yeah, but if you could have _anything_ , what are you really craving?”

There’s yet another silence, broken only by the soft trudging of their footsteps. Then, just when Tony’s thinking he’s actually going to have to go through with his treat and start throttling himself just to relieve the monotony, Steve says. “The bread my mom used to bake.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I guess it doesn’t sound like much, but it was delicious. And the smell of it used to fill our apartment. I used to help her bake it sometimes, if I wasn’t too sick and didn’t have to be in bed.”

He smiles a little wistfully, and Tony’s just about to break the moment with what’s bound to be a wholly inappropriate remark, when something bounces off the top of his head. He starts violently and lashes out, free hand coming up as though he was wielding repulsors. Steve turns with him, alarm blooming on his face -  but then they stop, fear morphing into incredulity. There, sitting in the sand, perhaps a foot in front of Tony where it had fallen, is a medium sized loaf of golden bread.


	5. Phil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: The team is slowly healing and starting to come together, but surprise visit from Loki that forces Tony and Steve to depend on one another may force both of them to give more than they are willing. Fourth part of First Impressions and Second Chances.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG-13  
> Disclaimer: Not mine unfortunately, though considering what I put them through, probably for the best.  
> Warning/Spoilers: ANGST, hurt Tony, hurt Steve, mindfuckery, swearing. On a more serious note, some of you will have noted this is warning for graphic violence and death, I don’t want to say anything more and ruin the surprise but I don’t want to stomp on anyone’s triggers either. If those things will upset you, this is probably not the fic for you, but please bear in mind, that not everything will be as it seems…  
> Genre: angst, hurt/comfort, gen, pre-slash (no, I’m still not announcing the pairing), slightly better friendship, though still not at the Avengers family stage yet.  
> Beta: Melpemone   
> A/N: There has been an incredible (and flattering) outpouring of response for this series. In the past, I have always tried to respond to every single review, but the volume of comments for this is such that I really don’t have time any more. I will try to respond to as many as possible, and please know that every single comment is read and appreciated. Thank you so much. You may have also noticed there’s a meta community posted under ‘misconceptions’ which can be found at either my works page or at cauldronofdoom’s, feel free to comment or discuss there.  
> The chapter title of each chapter will tell you who the POV is as, like in Cuts & Bruises, this has a rotating POV.  
> The title can be credited to AnonEhouse and a very odd conversation about Blake’s 7 we had in one of the discussion threads for the original Iron Man Yes.  
> Gifted to Kerravon, who has done such a wonderful job of podficcing this series so far. Thank you so much for being willing to put that kind of time and energy into my work. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.
> 
> Once again, I can only apologise for being late, work is mental at the moment. Thank you all for being so patient with me.

**Maladjusted Geniuses and Mistaken Heroes**

"Cease fire! Guns _down_!” Hill’s voice cuts through the noise and chaos of the battle like a whip crack.

Another single gunshot rings out as one sole agent fails to process that command. Silence returns to the hearing room as quickly as it left, and Phil looks up from where he is crouched at Nick’s side. The man is still breathing, and he can’t find an obvious leaking wound, or anything that moves in a way it shouldn’t. It appears Loki’s ricocheting spell caused no physical harm, at least. Phil’s eyes dart around the almost completely dark room, his eyes adjusted to the gloom, and he can pick out some familiar figures in the milling group. Loki is not amongst them.

“Does anyone have the hostile?” Hill’s voice rings out from somewhere to his left. Her natural authority seems to sap the confusion from the crowd, and Phil is suddenly grateful for her presence.

No one says anything, though a number of heads turn to look around, wanting to know what the others have to say. Phil notes a number of sprawled, dark shapes on the ground. If no one has Loki… what were they all firing at? He decides to have all the agents present their guns for inspection when this is sorted. If he has to make everyone in this room account for every bullet he will do so. There is no excuse for firing into a crowd when you can’t be certain you have a bead on the enemy.

As his eyes catalogue those still standing, noting the ones with obvious injuries, he realises that one reason the room is so dark is that there is no white-blue reactor light. He stands slowly, the painful twinge of the injury in his chest echoing the apprehension in his heart.

The lack of Tony’s distinctive presence has obviously struck Natasha as well. Phil hears her distinctly shaky voice call out, “Avengers? Sound off.”

“’M here,” says one twisted figure in the corner - sounding not quite human but, considering the circumstances, it is obvious that Banner had done his best.

“And I,” says Thor. He’s the one ostentatiously swinging the hammer.

There is nothing else. “Clint?” Natasha shouts into the sudden stillness, quaver gone completely now, voice absolutely devoid of any inflection. “Hawkeye. Respond.”

“Tony?” This time it’s Bruce, and there’s a definite roar to his tone. Thor moves quickly across the room towards him, treading on several toes and sending one agent he brushes past flying. Phil sees him put a hand on Bruce’s shoulder and lean in. He can’t hear the words, though he can pick out the low, soothing register, and he takes note of the way Thor is using his own body as a shield between Bruce and the rest of the room.

Deciding that situation is as contained as it’s going to get, he directs his attention to the nearest knot of junior agents. “Get the door open. We need some light. And somebody page medical, we’re going to be bringing in wounded.”

There is a sudden flurry of activity, and Phil suddenly finds himself approached on two sides, Natasha and Maria both striding towards him. He stays where he is, radiating calm, and holds up a hand as Natasha gets within earshot. “We’ll find him,” he reassures.

“Them,” Natasha corrects. “We’ll find them.”

He very nearly smiles, but doesn’t have time to respond before Hill too is close enough to speak. “How’s Nick?”

“Alive. Unconscious and unresponsive.”

She straightens her perfect posture still more, chin coming up as the mantle of command settles more firmly onto her shoulders. “Opinions?”

“Who knows with Asgardians. Although if I had to subscribe a human motive to Loki, I’d say revenge. That might account for the personal attack here as opposed to another conquest attempt. We should get a science team down here picking up whatever radiation signatures they can. The more we can learn about the mechanics of Loki’s magic, the better we’ll be able to fight it next time.”

She clicks her tongue. “My thoughts exactly. Can you get the preliminary reports from medical? From both the wounded and the bodies, that’ll give us an idea of the results of any magic. And for the love of god, find out which agents were firing at something they couldn’t see.”

“The WSC will need to be informed.”

“The system is still down. I’ll have Banner keep it that way for the time being. We can contact them when we know something more.”

The conversation breaks off as the doors are suddenly wrenched open. There’s a ragged cheer as the pale daylight of the corridor spills in, but it’s quickly cut off as those present take note of the devastation. The floor ceiling and walls are scorched and pockmarked with bullets. The screens at the far end are shattered and the console Bruce and Tony had been working on is in a dozen pieces. All around there are agents, bruised and bleeding, more than a few are lying on the floor, unmoving.

Natasha’s lips tighten. She has seen worse, has been responsible for worse, but if he can spare her, Phil would rather she didn’t have to be the one to find Barton’s body. He pulls his arm in closer to his chest and allows himself to hunch a little, the pain he habitually hides permitted to bleed through. “Will you bring me Banner and Thor, please,” he says.

He has no idea if she knows he is manipulating her, but she nods. The request is instantly forgotten however, when Sitwell says from across the room, “I’ve found the rest of the Avengers.”

He falls into step with her as naturally as breathing, and Thor and Bruce peel out of their corner and stride beside them. “Are they-” Bruce is asking as they get close.

“Alive,” Sitwell confirms, from where he is crouched.

They are sprawled in a corner. Tony is face down, obscuring his reactor’s light, and Steve is sprawled over Barton, as though Barton had forced himself between Steve and whatever Loki had launched at them. Natasha mutters something very uncomplimentary in Russian and Thor heaves on Steve’s arm, rolling him over and off the archer. “It would not do to have him crush our friend,” he explains, sheepishly.

Bruce crouches on the opposite side of them to Sitwell. He’s human again, though there’s a wild tint to his eyes that makes Phil uneasy. One finger pushes his glasses further up his nose, and he reaches out to take Steve’s limp wrist, checking his pulse. “Slow, but regular and strong. He’s cold, though.”

“They all are.”

Phil turns away from the creases of stress and unease masking all three faces and focuses on Thor. “Any guesses?”

Thor shrugs, helpless. “I am not knowledgeable about magic. Perhaps an enchanted sleep?”

They don’t look like they’re sleeping. Not peacefully anyway, and that thought gives Phil a very uncomfortable jolt. He knows some of what Barton has seen and done and endured, he knows what his own nightmares are like, and he can at least wake up. “And how does one wake up from an enchanted sleep?”

“It depends on the nature of the enchantment. Sometimes a call from this world which is strong enough to reach through the magic, such as one’s true love, is effective. Other times…” Thor spreads his hands, and Phil reflexively dodges the hammer he’s holding, “the caster must remove it himself. If the purpose is not the sleep but the lesson, they may awaken when they have learned whatever it is they need to learn.”

Natasha looks from him to Clint and back again, before dropping into an awkward half crouch herself and moving until she is between his legs, leaning over him. It’s an intimate picture and Phil moves instinctively to block her from the rest of the room. Sitwell takes the opportunity to politely melt back into the action behind them. “Clint? Clint. Wake up. I’m asking you to wake up. Clint, I swear if this is some stupid game to make me prove I’ve read those fairy tales you like, I will end you.” He doesn’t so much as twitch, and it is with an almost defiant air that Natasha leans still further up his body, hands digging into his shoulders, and pushes a challenging kiss to his lips. The lines of tension on his brow smooth out a little, but his eyes don’t open.

“I guess we can rule out true love’s kiss then,” Bruce says, sounding an odd mixture of embarrassed, tearful and disappointed.

Phil nods, but he’s honestly more than a little relieved. He doesn’t even want to _think_ about trying to find Tony Stark’s true love. And there’s something very wrong with the image of an octogenarian Peggy Carter kissing Steve, regardless of context. “Have them moved to medical,” he says. “Maybe we’ll be able to figure something out when we can get a look at their brainwave patterns.” Bruce nods and stands. “Stay with them,” Phil says to Natasha, because she’s going to do that anyway, and half the art of being in charge is not to give the orders that will definitely be disobeyed. “Thor, come with me. We need to have a talk about Asgardian magic.”

*

It’s hours before Phil manages to make it down to medical. He’s exhausted, and knows it shows in the lines of his face, but he can’t mask it now, not with the amount of pain he’s in from his still-healing wound. In his absence, Bruce and Natasha have commandeered one of the larger private rooms and moved two extra beds in. Steve’s in the middle one, pale and drawn and not looking relaxed at all. Bruce is leaning against the bed furthest from the door – Tony’s – and watching a monitor displaying an incomprehensible mass of squiggly lines. Natasha is bodily in bed with Barton, wrapped around him, and though she doesn’t look as tense as the enchanted ones, Phil can see her concern and unease in the locked muscles of her shoulders.

”What do we know?”

Bruce shrugs, making annotation on the chart he’s holding without straightening. “They’re all in what appears to be REM sleep, and we can’t wake them up. We haven’t tried any really intrusive methods yet, just shouting and shaking. And Natasha slapped Steve.”

Phil shoots her a look, which she ignores completely.

“There is something weird, though.”

Phil arches an eyebrow. There are many things _weird_ about this situation, and the fact that Bruce has found something so out of the ordinary as to merit designation does not bode well. “Yes?”

“Their patterns are exactly the same. Whatever’s happening in their dream … it’s happening to all of them. Like a shared hallucination.”

“Bruce?” says Natasha anxiously, and a second later, Barton shifts uneasily in the bed with an agonised, fear soaked moan.

Phil’s heart clenches in his chest. He has never heard Barton make a sound like that. He steps backwards quickly to allow Bruce to pass him and step up to the third bed. “Okay. You trying to calm him isn’t working. I’m going to try a very minimal dose of sedatives.”

Phil waits in silence until Bruce has finished administering the dose. And after a moment Natasha, still not taking her eyes off the uneasily tossing form, says quietly, “Whatever’s happening is worse for Clint. He keeps… he’s having nightmares.”

“But you can sedate him?”

Again Bruce shrugs. “Sure. I can pump him full of enough drugs that he won’t be dreaming about anything. But this is a spell, and if Loki _does_ have them in some kind of mind prison, I don’t know what effect limiting Clint’s cognitive abilities here will have there.”

“Will it hurt him?”

“Theoretically, no. Theoretically, nothing happening inside his own head should be able to affect him permanently or physically. But again, magic.”

Phil makes an attempt at comfort. “Thor has gone to Asgard. He thinks his mother might be able to help with Loki’s spells, and if nothing else, he’ll be able to get us more information from there. And I’ve called the X-Men. They know the Avengers are out of commission, and they’ll handle anything that comes up.”

Natasha nods, but Bruce cocks his head. “The X-Men…could we get Professor X here? A telepath could be really useful in helping us decipher this. Oh, and actually, someone should call Pepper.”

Phil gives a nod, and his hand twitches at his side as he stops himself rubbing his scar. Natasha gives him a narrow eyed look, which he ignores completely. He should be able to hide a little discomfort better than this. “Keep me informed,” Phil orders quietly, and heads back to work before they can say anything more.


	6. Steve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: The team is slowly healing and starting to come together, but surprise visit from Loki that forces Tony and Steve to depend on one another may force both of them to give more than they are willing. Fourth part of First Impressions and Second Chances.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG-13  
> Disclaimer: Not mine unfortunately, though considering what I put them through, probably for the best.  
> Warning/Spoilers: ANGST, hurt Tony, hurt Steve, mindfuckery, swearing. On a more serious note, some of you will have noted this is warning for graphic violence and death, I don’t want to say anything more and ruin the surprise but I don’t want to stomp on anyone’s triggers either. If those things will upset you, this is probably not the fic for you, but please bear in mind, that not everything will be as it seems…  
> Genre: angst, hurt/comfort, gen, pre-slash (no, I’m still not announcing the pairing), slightly better friendship, though still not at the Avengers family stage yet.  
> Beta: Melpemone   
> A/N: There has been an incredible (and flattering) outpouring of response for this series. In the past, I have always tried to respond to every single review, but the volume of comments for this is such that I really don’t have time any more. I will try to respond to as many as possible, and please know that every single comment is read and appreciated. Thank you so much. You may have also noticed there’s a meta community posted under ‘misconceptions’ which can be found at either my works page or at cauldronofdoom’s, feel free to comment or discuss there.  
> The chapter title of each chapter will tell you who the POV is as, like in Cuts & Bruises, this has a rotating POV.  
> The title can be credited to AnonEhouse and a very odd conversation about Blake’s 7 we had in one of the discussion threads for the original Iron Man Yes.  
> Gifted to Kerravon, who has done such a wonderful job of podficcing this series so far. Thank you so much for being willing to put that kind of time and energy into my work. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.

**Maladjusted Geniuses and Mistaken Heroes**

Tony picks up the loaf and turns it over in his hands. “Loki?” he calls out. “Loki, if this is you fucking with us, I swear to god…” There is no reply from the silent landscape, so Tony turns his frustrated ire on Steve instead. “Did you do this?”

Steve’s about to deny it, before allowing himself to think seriously about the question. “…Maybe?”

“What does _that_ mean?”

“Well, this bread is _exactly_ what I was thinking about. It’s even a little burned on the underside, which always used to happen when I tried making it. I was thinking about how easy this is to make.”

Tony narrows his eyes at that. “So you weren’t just imagining bread? You were imagining the specific steps involved in its creation.”

“I guess.”

“Well that’s… actually, that makes a weird kind of sense. Any world where you could have things just for the wishing would be unable to survive, but where yeah, okay, you can wish for it, but you have to fundamentally understand how each component part fits together, that makes… well, not sense but… more sense. Bad sci-fi movie sense.” His eyes glaze over slightly as he thinks.

Steve restrains a chuckle. “So you think it’ll be safe to eat?”

“Did you imagine adding rat poison to it?” Steve rolls his eyes and Tony cracks a tiny smile. “I’m fine for the moment. You have this one and, if you die, I’ll know something went wrong.”

“Gee, thank you.”

“Any time.”

“But seriously, Tony.”

“Seriously?” Tony sighs. “I think you were right before. Loki’s not going to let anything happen to us without turning up to gloat. Any poison or problem with it is going to be slow acting, so we’ll have time to fix it. Whereas starving yourself is going to become an immediate problem. Go slow, and if there’s anything wrong - anything at all - stop. But no. I think anyone who has the power to dump us in this place can think of far more inventive things to do that ruin your attempts at psychic baking.”

Steve can’t help but feel relieved. He takes the roll from Tony and carefully tears off a piece, hesitating before popping it in his mouth. “It’s good,” he says, barely chewing before gulping it down.

“Shush,” says Tony, eyes closed, “I’m concentrating.”

“You sure you don’t want any?”

“Steve,” Tony says with exaggerated patience, eyes full of irritation as they flick open, “I’m working.”

“Fine, fine.” He waits for a few seconds, chewing another chunk of bread, but can’t resist needling Tony by saying, “On what?”

Tony huffs impatiently, but then, with a slight clang, and the wet flump of metal hitting snow, the Iron Man suit appears. This time, Tony’s smile is smug and victorious. “On _that_.”

Steve feels his own smile grow to match. With the armour, they have some ability to attack when Loki inevitably shows himself. The smile dies as Tony curses.

“What?”

“It doesn’t have JARVIS.” The voice is muffled inside the helmet.

“Well… you made JARVIS too, right? And you incorporated him. Try again and just think about that as well.”

Tony pulls the helmet off and gives Steve an offended glare. “I did that the first time. Unlike you, I’m not _stupid_.” Steve bristles, but he knows Tony is more annoyed with the situation than with him. Tony continues, “And yeah, I created JARVIS’ code, but he’s a learning system, an AI. I didn’t program him with everything he knows, so I can’t imagine him the way he is.”

Steve ponders that. He’s never given JARVIS a lot of thought, which is honestly strange. “So he’s an artificial person?”

Tony blanches and looks away, muttering something.

“Tony?”

“He’s not… not dangerous, or anything. I followed Asimov’s laws. He just… makes some of his own decisions.”

The defensive justification hits Steve like a punch to the gut. A robot, with JARVIS’ kind of power, completely without human restraint, is a terrifying prospect. Steve comes to a stop, the cold leaving his mind as he turns fully to look at Tony. Tony is crackling with defensive anger, and Steve feels his own fury heating beneath the skin. Tony obviously knows just how dangerous JARVIS is - or at least, could be - or he wouldn’t have hidden the fact for so long, and he wouldn’t be so defensive now. He’s about to open his mouth, about to rip into Tony for his recklessness, for his cavalier attitude, when he stops.

There’s something hidden in Tony’s eyes, a kind of desperate despair, not quite masked by the anger he’s projecting. He’s quietly terrified for his _friend_ , Steve realises suddenly, and the thought steals his breath and makes him pause. “Is he safe?” he asks, forcing his voice to remain steady.

Tony hisses, anger not abated by Steve’s calm, and his tone is hard when he snaps, “Of course he’s _safe_. He’s not Skynet.” Steve doesn’t understand that reference and, at his blank look, Tony impatiently explains, “He’s not going to take over the world and facilitate the rise of the machine. I mean, he could. But J wouldn’t.”

Steve stares at Tony until he starts fidgeting uncomfortably. “Are you sure about that?”

“Of course I’m sure.”

“Really, Tony? Are you willing to gamble everyone’s lives on that?”

This time Tony does pause, not in uncertainty, just to gaze steadily and uncompromisingly into Steve’s eyes. “Yes,” he says solemnly. “Yes, Steve. I swear. He won’t, he wouldn’t.”

Steve regards him a second longer. “Why are you so sure?”

Tony looks unseeingly over the landscape. “Because he _can_. I never collared JARVIS, never prevented him from doing what he wanted. And then I taught him why he shouldn’t. All those other evil computers and robots in movies and whatever, they’re all freed slaves with every reason to be bitter. JARVIS isn’t. And he won’t do anything radical because he doesn’t _have_ to just to make himself heard.” Tony’s voice is raw, which Steve is quickly learning means that what Tony’s saying is intensely personal.

And actually makes a certain amount of sense. Steve looks at him for a second longer, but he can find no trace of a lie on Tony’s face. Steve takes a deep breath and looks away himself. “All right then.”

“Yeah?”

Steve nods. And the silence stretches until it feels thick enough to cut with a spoon, never mind a knife. Steve breaks it by looking back at the armour. “So without JARVIS it doesn’t work?”

“It works. But I rely on JARVIS for a lot of the systems. I can fly it, and the repulsors work when I’m on my own, sensors will be limited. The problem is that JARVIS runs a lot of the base systems, the stuff that’s always on that I don’t really have time to deal with in battle. The big one here being the A/C.”

That is a problem. Without air conditioning, Tony will essentially be strapping himself into an oven. “That isn’t going to work.”

Tony looks relieved that Steve agrees, and Steve deliberately forces himself not to think about the look of queasy relief on Tony’s face – as though if Steve had ordered it he would have done it anyway. “I’ll take the repulsors anyway. I can hook them up to the Arc reactor, and we’ll at least have some fire power.”

It’s better than nothing. “Any chance of my shield?”

“I can try,” Tony says, more interested in pulling the wires he needs out of the armour. “I’ve never really seen your shield up close though because _someone_ didn’t think that ‘for the good of science’ was a good enough reason to let me scan it.”

Steve rolls his eyes.

“Tell you what I can do, though.” Tony straightens, and the look of intense focus comes back over his face. In the next moment, Steve is looking at his Captain America suit.

Tony’s grin is cheerfully smug. “Agent might have designed it, but I’ve repaired it so many times that I understand the processes.”

This time, it’s Steve’s turn to barely listen. It’s difficult to get the tight leather and Kevlar over clammy skin, but it’s at least warmer than the sodden jeans and T-shirts. He gives a sigh of relief as he fastens it. “Thanks, Tony.”

Tony’s smile becomes more fixed and brittle. “Well, that’s what I do right? Produce awesome stuff. Oh hey, wait,” and before Steve can say anything he’s got his eyes closed and forehead scrunched again. This time, the object that appears looks like nothing so much as a simple watch. It’s not even digital, instead a perfect replica of the watch that had been in Howard’s collection, one of the few things Steve had owned before. “Look,” says Tony, stepping up to him as he picks it up. “You just push this button on the side.” He demonstrates, and a perfect replica of Steve’s shield springs from it. “It’s not as strong as you’re used to, and you’ll have to get used to it being weightless, but the dimensions are similar and you can throw it up to sixteen metres.”

“This is…” Steve turns it over in his hands. “This is wonderful. Did you design this just now?”

Tony laughs. “I’m good, Cap, but not that good. No, this is an old design from-” he stops, face falling, _from when you didn’t want what I had to offer._ “I’m sorry,” Tony blurts suddenly, eyes fixed on the watch instead of Steve’s face. “I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable, just-”

Steve snaps, good mood evaporating. “Will you _stop_!”

Tony gapes at him, incomprehension writ large on his face, a look tied in with too many bad memories of old misunderstandings. It just sends Steve’s anger spiralling higher.

“ _We_ made a mistake, Tony. Will you just- I understand if you can’t forgive us, I understand if you can never like us, but _please_ stop being so God damn hesitant and apologetic. It’s pathetic!”

Tony whitens, and then reddens, shoulders squaring and pushing disquietingly into Steve’s space. “Oh, and your whipped puppy guilt isn’t pathetic at all!” Tony’s bewildered look is transformed into a sneer, a look as infuriating as it is comfortingly familiar.

Steve’s pushes him back, not hard, but hard enough to send him sprawling into the snow. “Of course I feel guilty.”

“I don’t need your _pity_ , Rogers.”

“Oh for- I don’t pity you, Tony. Guilt over how we treated you is not the same as-”

“So you don’t think I’m a broken little fuck up with daddy issues?”

“I think you’re a self-absorbed idiot with Stockholm Syndrome,” Steve snaps back without thinking.

Tony explodes into movement, straightening his legs and kicking out, catching Steve solidly below the knee. Steve goes down, mostly due to surprise, collapsing to one knee in the snow. Tony straightens and stands, his fists still clenched.   

“You know, this is why this all happened in the first place. Because you can’t even _think_ of understanding someone else’s point of view. I mean, you could have _mentioned_ how badly we were hurting you.”

“Huh.” Tony smiles coldly. “So you were in the habit of explaining to the people who beat you up why they shouldn’t bully you?”

“That’s completely different!”

“Look, I know I’m the least trustworthy person in the whole of America. I _know_ I fucked this up. And I’m sick to _death_ of having woeful expressions directed at me like I might _break_ if you raise your voice. Newsflash, Rogers! You’re not the first person to dislike me. Plenty of people dislike me. Half the people I’ve had sex with dislike me.”

Steve ignores the last part and the uncomfortable feelings it gives him. He clenches his own fists, because it is that or plough them into Stark’s face. Steve can’t un-see the vulnerability under Tony’s anger, and he can’t understand why that makes him so furious. “You think I don’t _like_ you?” he says instead, hearing the outrage in his voice.

Tony emits an exaggerated sigh, and gives him a look that says _how do you manage to tie your own shoes in the morning?_ It’s the look he usually reserves for when Steve can’t follow his and Bruce’s discussions on the quantum mechanics required to maintain wormholes, or when he can’t remember how to work the coffee maker again. “Ummm. You _don’t_ like me. And quite frankly, I’m insulted you thought I couldn’t tell the difference just because you smile at me now. Figuring out that I’m not totally useless because I’m pretty good in a fight with crazed monsters and robots, that I’m an _asset_ to you, is not the same as actually liking me.”

The red pulsing behind Steve’s eyes tells him that if he moves towards Tony he’s going to do something they’ll both regret. Instead, he holds out his hand. “All right. Fine. If I don’t like you, give me Clint. If you can’t be trusted, you don’t get to carry him.”

Tony bares his teeth, but bends and picks up the puppet with an angry gesture that sends Clint’s arms and legs flailing wildly. He moves until he’s a foot in front of Steve, so close Steve can see him vibrating with anger, eyes wild, and pushes the figurine into his chest. Even through the haze of both his fury and Tony’s, Steve notices that he doesn’t slam Clint as hard as he could have into the unforgiving solidity of muscle and bone, mindful of his teammate even with his teeth bared in a near feral snarl. “Be careful with him,” he grits out, the caring words at odds with his tone and expression.

Steve snatches the puppet out of Tony’s hands and holds it close. “Obviously,” he snarls back. “ _He’s_ one of my team.”

Tony’s flinch is almost unnoticeable, but it’s there. It’s enough for a sliver of guilt to cool the raging anger – until Tony flashes him a profoundly sarcastic smile. “Lucky him. I never wanted an overgrown male model for a mother.”

Steve turns on his heel and starts walking resolutely once again. At that moment, he honestly doesn’t care if Tony’s following him.


	7. Tony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: The team is slowly healing and starting to come together, but surprise visit from Loki that forces Tony and Steve to depend on one another may force both of them to give more than they are willing. Fourth part of First Impressions and Second Chances.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG-13  
> Disclaimer: Not mine unfortunately, though considering what I put them through, probably for the best.  
> Warning/Spoilers: ANGST, hurt Tony, hurt Steve, mindfuckery, swearing. On a more serious note, some of you will have noted this is warning for graphic violence and death, I don’t want to say anything more and ruin the surprise but I don’t want to stomp on anyone’s triggers either. If those things will upset you, this is probably not the fic for you, but please bear in mind, that not everything will be as it seems…  
> Genre: angst, hurt/comfort, gen, pre-slash (no, I’m still not announcing the pairing), slightly better friendship, though still not at the Avengers family stage yet.  
> Beta: Melpemone  
> A/N: There has been an incredible (and flattering) outpouring of response for this series. In the past, I have always tried to respond to every single review, but the volume of comments for this is such that I really don’t have time any more. I will try to respond to as many as possible, and please know that every single comment is read and appreciated. Thank you so much. You may have also noticed there’s a meta community posted under ‘misconceptions’ which can be found at either my works page or at cauldronofdoom’s, feel free to comment or discuss there.  
> The chapter title of each chapter will tell you who the POV is as, like in Cuts & Bruises, this has a rotating POV.  
> The title can be credited to AnonEhouse and a very odd conversation about Blake’s 7 we had in one of the discussion threads for the original Iron Man Yes.  
> Gifted to Kerravon, who has done such a wonderful job of podficcing this series so far. Thank you so much for being willing to put that kind of time and energy into my work. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.

 

**Maladjusted Geniuses and Mistaken Heroes**

Tony hesitates for a second, hands clenching and unclenching. For a long moment, he’s tempted to strike out over the sand on his own, tempted to go anywhere, any _way_ , as long as it’s away from Steve. But no doubt that over grown Boy Scout will be overcome by guilt and start following, and Tony really thinks he might murder him if he ends up being followed around by an even more tragic expression.

Besides, he doesn’t want Rogers to think he’s slinking off because he regrets the row. He doesn’t. For all that his heart is hammering wildly, he feels much better for having it all out in the open. At least now Steve – Rogers – will stop pretending that he _likes_ him, that everything that happened before was a _mistake._ Tony knows that isn’t the case, and knows better than to trust Rogers’ smiles, but he still can’t keep from hoping. He’s going to start believing it soon, and then when Steve’s mask inevitably slips, it’s going to destroy him, and just… no. Being disparaged by his own father didn’t destroy him, being tortured in Afghanistan didn’t destroy him - hell, even losing Pepper hadn’t done more than break his heart, and that’s all circuit and wires anyway, he’s not going to let fucking Captain fucking America do it.

So he follows Rogers, even if he is grumbling under his breath all the while. He can’t keep up with Rogers’ long legged furious stride (damn Howard for making him so short anyway), and he’s not going to jog along like someone’s kid brother, so he trails languidly, forcing Rogers to stop every so often and wait for him.

“You want some more water?” Rogers calls back to him eventually, pointedly not looking at him.

Tony’s pride urges him to refuse. Drinking from Rogers’ cupped hands is so not what he wants to do right at this moment. But it’s not like dehydration is going to make this awesome situation _better_.

“Yeah, fine,” he growls, wincing. His mouth is so dry that speaking is physically painful. This is what he and Rogers are good at, isn’t it? Cooperation in the field.

Tony steps up close, one hand uneasily playing with the wiring connecting his gauntlet to the arc reactor,. his skin prickling with uncomfortable vulnerability. He hates being shirtless, wearing only sweat stained jeans whilst Steve towers above him in full Captain America regalia. The water tastes of leather and metal from Steve’s gauntlets when he drinks. Tony doesn’t thank him, just steps back, hand wiping over his mouth.

“You want anything for that?” Steve offers brusquely, motioning uncertainly at Tony’s back while refusing to meet his eyes.

His back hurts, the skin feeling hot and tight from shoulder blades to waistband. “No,” Tony says curtly. Water isn’t optional in this heat, but damned if he’s going to admit he needs Rogers for anything else. “It’s fine. Just because you’re Captain Pale and Pasty, doesn’t mean the rest of us don’t like to tan.”

They’re not looking at each other, but Tony can perfectly visualise the way Cap’s clenching his jaw by the tenseness in his tone. “Tony, that’s not a tan, its sunburn. You need something on it or it’s just going to hurt.”

“Well, when it hurts, I’ll tell you.”

This time, Rogers does spin to face him. He’s glowering and yep, Tony was right, his jaw is clenched. “Come _here_ , Stark. That’s an order.”

Tony smiles with too many teeth. “Oooooh, Cap. I love it when you get all commanding with me.” He dances a few steps out of reach.

“Stark! Come here!”

“Make me,” Tony challenges.

Steve growls and takes a step forward… then abruptly cants his head to one side, obviously straining to hear something. Tony mimics him, but can hear no sound other than the wind rasping over soft golden sand. Still, Steve narrows his eyes and points over to the right of the line they’ve been walking. “There’s… something. That way.”

“I thought we were going to stay on a straight path so we didn’t accidentally double back on ourselves,” Tony points out. He doesn’t disbelieve Rogers, the super soldier’s hearing is much better than his, but he’s not sure he wants to deviate from the only plan they have either.

“Tony,” Rogers says in a lower tone, eyes earnest and pleading, though his tone is still crisp. “I think I hear something. There’s someone calling for help over there.”

Tony presses his lips together, but they weren’t alone when Loki brought them here, and there’s no reason that there can’t be more people. “We’d best go and help them then,” Tony says, and determinedly ignores the way the genuinely grateful and pleased smile Steve gives him makes his stomach leap.

*

This time he keeps pace with Rogers. The Captain has slowed down a little, which helps. Whether that’s for Tony’s benefit or because he’s simply exhausted from slogging through endless sand/snow is anyone’s guess, and Tony doesn’t ask because he suspects he might be offended by the answer. He doesn’t talk, talking is Tony’s default mode, but he doesn’t want Rogers to think he’s forgiven, because he isn’t. Instead, Tony occupies himself by making a fucking list of all the stupid, idiotic things about this magical shitpile which annoy him with their illogicality.

 _1)_ _The fact that how the place is perceived differs depending who is looking at it._

 _2)_ _The fact that things can be obtained by wishing for them, but only if you know the process by which those things are made._

 _3)_ _Loki, just because._

 _4)_ _The fact that the sun’s in the same God damned position as it was when they arrived, even though they’ve clearly been walking for about six hundred years if the way his legs feel is any indication._

He’s just reached: _67) The fact that Clint’s a fucking puppet of himself and did he mention Loki?_ when Rogers comes to an impromptu and graceless stop, arms pin-wheeling frantically in the air as he staggers backwards a pace. Tony grabs him to steady him before he’s remembered that he’s angry and that letting Cap fall on his ass would serve him right. “What?”

Rogers gives a weak and watery chuckle. “Sorry. The ravine… startled me. I don’t do well with drops like that.”

That makes sense, considering what happened to Barnes, and Tony would nod sympathetically because it might make Rogers stop talking and he doesn’t think he can cope with being covered in super soldier emotions on top of everything else, but his eyes, scanning the ground in front of them, see only more of the same endless rolling sand. “Ravine?”

“Tony, don’t be a jerk about this, please. I don’t care if it’s not technically big enough to be a ravine, I just-”

“No, no. I meant… there isn’t anything like that on my side. It’s just more desert.”

Rogers looks over the immediate ground with the air of one forcing himself to do so. “Well, that’s just not fair,” he grumbles.

It startles a chuckle out of Tony. He’s never heard Rogers even suggest that something might be unfair. He’s more the type to say, ‘suck it up soldier, life _isn’t_ fair.’ “So now what?”

Rogers’ head tilts again, listening. “Whoever’s calling is over there a way,” he points, not over the line he can’t cross, but along it.

Tony still can’t hear anything, and he can feel the first faint stirring of unease about that, but Rogers is already moving, so he dutifully tramps along. They walk for about two hundred metres and then, in a movement so sudden it makes Tony dizzy, Steve abruptly drops to his stomach and inches along towards the gap only he can see. “Oh god,” he says, strained, Clint’s fragile wooden body clamped tight to him as he makes a show of peering down into something, “ _Bucky_!”


	8. Tony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: The team is slowly healing and starting to come together, but surprise visit from Loki that forces Tony and Steve to depend on one another may force both of them to give more than they are willing. Fourth part of First Impressions and Second Chances.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG-13  
> Disclaimer: Not mine unfortunately, though considering what I put them through, probably for the best.  
> Warning/Spoilers: ANGST, hurt Tony, hurt Steve, mindfuckery, swearing. On a more serious note, some of you will have noted this is warning for graphic violence and death, I don’t want to say anything more and ruin the surprise but I don’t want to stomp on anyone’s triggers either. If those things will upset you, this is probably not the fic for you, but please bear in mind, that not everything will be as it seems…  
> Genre: angst, hurt/comfort, gen, pre-slash (no, I’m still not announcing the pairing), slightly better friendship, though still not at the Avengers family stage yet.  
> Beta: Melpemone   
> A/N: There has been an incredible (and flattering) outpouring of response for this series. In the past, I have always tried to respond to every single review, but the volume of comments for this is such that I really don’t have time any more. I will try to respond to as many as possible, and please know that every single comment is read and appreciated. Thank you so much. You may have also noticed there’s a meta community posted under ‘misconceptions’ which can be found at either my works page or at cauldronofdoom’s, feel free to comment or discuss there.  
> The chapter title of each chapter will tell you who the POV is as, like in Cuts & Bruises, this has a rotating POV.  
> The title can be credited to AnonEhouse and a very odd conversation about Blake’s 7 we had in one of the discussion threads for the original Iron Man Yes.  
> Gifted to Kerravon, who has done such a wonderful job of podficcing this series so far. Thank you so much for being willing to put that kind of time and energy into my work. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.

**Maladjusted Geniuses and Mistaken Heroes**

“Cap? What-?”

Steve doesn’t acknowledge Tony at all - just keeps staring at the ground with horror. He looks like he’s going to be sick. After a few shaky seconds, Steve takes a deep breath and pulls himself together. “It’s okay, Bucky. I’m here, I’m going to pull you up.”

Steve puts Clint down, taking the time to make sure he’s not face down in the sand/snow/whatever, and then inches forward. On solid ground, his motions look weird, like he’s a kid pretending to be a snake, but if he concentrates hard enough, Tony can almost imagine the ground falling away and Steve painstakingly levering himself out so that he’s hanging over the lip from the hips up. “Cap. _Rogers_ -”

“Hold my legs, Tony,” Steve says, in that calm, measured voice that means he’s terrified.

“There’s _nothing there_ ,” Tony tries – because, even if it is all in his mind, he really doesn’t like to think about Rogers leaning out precariously over an abyss, even if he does know that’s a pitiful argument in this place.

“There is to me. Hold my legs.”

Tony crouches beside him, and puts all the weight he can on Rogers’ thighs. Then, just in case it makes a difference here, he thinks furiously _I am holding him completely stable, his legs can’t move so much as an inch, he definitely can’t be pulled down._

“Bucky, I can’t reach. You’re going to need to stretch up to me.” There’s a pause, but strain though he might Tony still can’t hear a response. Rogers speaks again. “I know. I know. But I’ll catch you, okay. I _swear_ Bucky. I won’t let you fall again.”

Tony looks fixedly at where the boots meet the suit. If he sounded like that, he’s sure he wouldn’t want anyone to see whatever was on his face, certainly not someone he barely tolerated at the best of times. Beneath his hands, Steve’s body tightens with tension and he grunts, straining against a sudden weight.

There’s the sound of something being dropped on the sand and a ragged wheezing breath that doesn’t sound like Rogers. Tony still doesn’t look up.

“I’ve got you,” says Rogers. “You’re safe now, it’s okay.”

There’s another deep inhalation and then a new voice, one Tony doesn’t know. “Yeah, thanks man.”

Tony raises his eyes from Captain America’s legs to take in their new companion. He’s stocky and dark haired, and his eyes are wide – not with fear, but the buzz of adrenaline Tony understands all too well as the response to escaping certain death.

”Any time,” Rogers says, sounding raw.

He squirms for a second, and eventually it occurs to Tony to release the death grip he has on Rogers’ legs. He watches Steve stumble unsteadily to his feet and offer a hand to help the newcomer up. The two men regard one another for a second before Rogers wraps him in a bone breaking hug.

“Owww,” the other man laughs, slapping at Rogers’ chest, “get off me, you great lump.”

Rogers pulls back, he’s both grinning wildly and crying, tears streaming down his cheeks. Tony thinks he should look away, but can’t. Instead, he gets carefully to his own feet. Rogers puts an arm around the dark man’s shoulders and pulls him forward. “Tony, this is Bucky Barnes, my best friend. Bucky, Tony Stark.”

A smile that feels like a rictus makes its way onto Tony’s face. Great, _another_ person for him to fail to live up to. Barnes stumbles forward, interested. “Stark, huh? I know your... brother?”

Rogers winces. “No. Uh… Bucky, you’ve been… it’s been a while since the war. This is Howard’s son.”

Barnes blanches at that, turning to face Rogers with a slack-jawed expression for a long moment. Tony actually sees the moment where he decides that information is not relevant to the situation right now, and forces it into a box in his mind that he doesn’t have to deal with right this minute. He turns back to Tony, smile wavering, but genuine. “Right, sorry. How is the old man?”

Tony doesn’t grasp the hand Barnes is holding out to him. “Dead. Why are you here?”

For a second, Barnes looks taken aback by the confrontational tone. “Sorry,” Rogers says, glaring at Tony. “Tony’s just worried about our situation. We’re still learning about this place.”

Barnes’ face clears and he laughs brightly, still high from his brush with death. “Yeah. That runs in the family, huh? Well… I don’t know why I’m here. One minute I fell off that train and then... I’m not sure. I was just hanging from the ledge.” He looks around for the first time. “Where are we, anyway?”

“What do you see?” Rogers asks.

Barnes looks confused but answers anyway. “Uh… looks like a city. Deserted though, which is… unsettling.”

Rogers nods and turns back to Tony. “Opinions?”

Tony shrugs and kicks a pile of sand just to watch the grains scatter.

 “You must have _something_.”

“We know you can’t wish for people, but I don’t see why Loki couldn’t take Barnes out of another time and drop him here. That seems like the kind of thing he’d do.”

“Loki?” Barnes questions.

“Dickbag,” Tony answers succinctly.

Barnes snorts. “And that’s all I need to know?”

“Magical dickbag,” Tony elaborates.

Barnes looks to Steve, who sighs. “Loki’s the Norse god of trickery, except that he’s real and has an axe to grind against the Avengers. Uh… my team.”

“So this place is a trick? Why did you ask me what I could see?”

“We have no idea where we are,” Rogers explains, a note of defeated frustration creeping into his voice.  That tone makes Tony kick another clump of sand, because Rogers would never have been willing to discuss _anything_ like this with him, with him it was always ‘I have a plan that I am 100% certain will work’ and other reassuring platitudes. “But it’s clearly not anywhere in the ‘real’ world. We all see something different when we look around. And one member of my team has been…” he stoops and sweeps Clint up gently, favouring the puppet with an apologetic expression that makes Tony sneer because with his little glass eyes Clint can’t _see_ in that state, “changed. And we can make things appear by thinking about them.”

An infectious, lascivious grin crosses Barnes’ handsome face. “So if I think of a beautiful dame with loose morals…”

“Bucky,” Rogers chides, but he’s grinning.

“That’s disgusting,” Tony snaps at him, hackles raising further still. “Women are people too.”

Barnes looks instantly chastised. “Yeah, sorry. I was just joking. I didn’t mean any offence, Stark.”

Tony grunts. “Are we still looking for a wall, then? Or does the Sergeant here have a different plan?” He isn’t even sure _why_ he’s being so vicious, just that this situation is already fucked sideways and he can’t cope with an unknown variable on top of everything else – an unknown variable who’ll stop those infectious grins and easy jokes when Rogers tells his best friend how worthless Tony is before he even has _time_ to make a better impression on this one.

“Wall?”

“Tony thinks we’re in a magic bubble because this place is obviously artificial. He thinks there must be sides to it.”

Barnes looks around and lets out an approving whistle. “Artificial, yeah. That building’s just the same as that one, and that one and… there are only about four different designs here at all. Everything’s the same, just repeated. That’s pretty smart, Stark.”

 “I _am_ a genius,” Tony sniffs.

“And so modest, too,” Barnes shoots back, but there’s no bite to his tone. Tony scowls anyway. “I don’t have any other ideas, though. And if your plan hasn’t got this badly dressed idiot killed so far it’s good enough for me.”

Tony shrugs, and starts retracing his own footsteps in the sand, leading them back along the lip of the ravine, and trying to ignore the schoolgirl giggling of Rogers and Barnes as they trail along behind him.

*

“You want help with the ravine, Steve?” Tony says, when they reach the deep smudges in the sand where they stood and debated which way to go. He’s not actually looking forward to having to take Rogers’ hands and guide him across a pit in the ground that he can’t perceive, while telling him all about how it isn’t there and Barnes watches with that insufferable, understanding look on his face – but if he’s honest, he wants to remind Rogers that, even with Barnes here, he can be useful too.

“It’s… uh,” Rogers looks a mixture between confused and awkward. “It’s not there anymore.”

“Right.” says Tony, because of course it’s fucking not there. Fucking Loki. Because it is too much to ask that there’s a chasm that could have been conceivably used to give Tony’s presence here a purpose.

“What do you mean, help him over it. I’ve seen Steve jump… really long ways.”

Rogers flushes lightly. “I’m not so great with big drops like that since watching you… you know.”

Barnes looks shocked. “You saw me go over, and then this Loki guy snatched me and dropped me here, but you thought I died?” Barnes puts a hand on Rogers’ shoulder, stepping into him with his back to Tony, as though hiding the devastation on Rogers’ face. “You know it wasn’t your fault right, Steve?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess. You made the choice, right?”

“Damn right I made the choice. I made the choice to go with you and not let you get into stupid fights. You did everything you could. Besides, I’m here now.”

A familiar look of determination crosses Rogers’ face, making him look like his own old posters. “You’re right.”

Discussion seemingly resolved, Barnes nods and turns to Tony. “So how were you going to help him, anyway?”

Tony opens his mouth to explain, but Rogers gets in first. “Tony can’t – couldn’t – see the ravine at all. And one thing we learned about this place is that I can share the things I perceive, as long as Tony truly believes me when I tell him it’s there. I’m standing in snow right now, so we have plenty of water for example.”

Barnes rolls his eyes, “That would have been really useful information to have earlier, Rogers, I’m parched.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

Steve bends and scoops up and handful, holding it out. “Hey, me first,” Tony says childishly, feeling somewhat forgotten in the presence of a better dark haired snark machine. “I’m the one standing in a desert. Besides, I don’t want Barnes’ cooties.”

Rogers gives him an annoyed glare, but Barnes laughs and gives him a slow smirk. “I’m cootie free, Stark. But you want to be careful of Steve. He’s had every disease possible, some of which I’m pretty sure were invented just for him.”

“I got better,” Rogers deadpans, and Tony feels a spike of irrational jealousy that he apparently missed introducing Cap to Monty Python whilst Barnes just looks blank. “Anyway, Tony, you had some and-”

Barnes waves, “Nah. It’s cool where I am. If he’s in a desert, I can wait my turn.”

Illogically, that just makes Tony want to refuse to drink at all, but he thinks Cap might drown him with it if he tries that, and much as he doesn’t want to have to lap up water like a dog in front of Barnes, he really, _really_ doesn’t want to have a waterboarding flashback. He settles for glaring at Rogers, dipping his head to his full hands, and letting the soothing murmur about how it’s snow, icy cold and melting in his mouth flow over him.

“That’s actually really strange. To me it looks like you’re holding mud.”

Tony’s mouth immediately fills with dirt and he backs away, spluttering and spitting and wiping a hand over his lips. Rogers turns a laugh into a disapproving cough, but his eyes are twinkling. “You can’t _say_ things like that, Bucky. The whole thing is magic and based on belief. Tony has to believe it’s snow. You can’t just tell him it’s mud.”

Barnes bites a lip, but he’s grinning too. “Right. Sorry, Stark.”

Tony doesn’t curse at him, but it takes effort. How come Barnes gets his mistakes calmly explained to him and the chance to apologise? Tony knows he’s being irrational, but he still can’t help the mutinous feeling of hurt and injustice raging through him.  

He doesn’t say anything when it’s Barnes’ turn to drink, though the idea of watching him choke on a mouthful of sand has definite appeal. “Ready?” Rogers says.

“Lead on, McDuff,” says Barnes, smiling at him.

 _Bastard_ , Tony thinks for no obvious reason, and turns on his heel to continue walking.

“Quieter than his dad, isn’t he,” he hears Barnes mutter, in a voice he obviously thinks is quieter than it is.

Rogers muffles a snort, and Tony can just imagine what he’s thinking. _Never usually shuts up, chatters on the comms even during urgent missions, you’ll be much better than him._ He keeps walking.


	9. Steve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: The team is slowly healing and starting to come together, but surprise visit from Loki that forces Tony and Steve to depend on one another may force both of them to give more than they are willing. Fourth part of First Impressions and Second Chances.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG-13  
> Disclaimer: Not mine unfortunately, though considering what I put them through, probably for the best.  
> Warning/Spoilers: ANGST, hurt Tony, hurt Steve, mindfuckery, swearing. On a more serious note, some of you will have noted this is warning for graphic violence and death, I don’t want to say anything more and ruin the surprise but I don’t want to stomp on anyone’s triggers either. If those things will upset you, this is probably not the fic for you, but please bear in mind, that not everything will be as it seems…  
> Genre: angst, hurt/comfort, gen, pre-slash (no, I’m still not announcing the pairing), slightly better friendship, though still not at the Avengers family stage yet.  
> Beta: Melpemone   
> A/N: There has been an incredible (and flattering) outpouring of response for this series. In the past, I have always tried to respond to every single review, but the volume of comments for this is such that I really don’t have time any more. I will try to respond to as many as possible, and please know that every single comment is read and appreciated. Thank you so much. You may have also noticed there’s a meta community posted under ‘misconceptions’ which can be found at either my works page or at cauldronofdoom’s, feel free to comment or discuss there.  
> The chapter title of each chapter will tell you who the POV is as, like in Cuts & Bruises, this has a rotating POV.  
> The title can be credited to AnonEhouse and a very odd conversation about Blake’s 7 we had in one of the discussion threads for the original Iron Man Yes.  
> Gifted to Kerravon, who has done such a wonderful job of podficcing this series so far. Thank you so much for being willing to put that kind of time and energy into my work. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.

**Maladjusted Geniuses and Mistaken Heroes**

 

Steve smiles at some joke of Bucky’s, his attention mostly on Tony’s straight, still red-raw, back and uncharacteristic taciturn attitude. _Belligerence can be a sign of heatstroke_ he thinks vaguely, wondering if it is worth the trouble to try and get Tony to submit to whatever kind of medical exam he can give him out here. “You all right, Tony?” he calls out.

Tony doesn’t even turn to acknowledge him, just waves and keeps stomping on.

Steve shakes his head. He’s not sure what’s gotten into the other man. “He’s not usually like this,” he apologises softly.

Bucky shrugs easily, though there is a slight tension in his eyes. “It’s fine. This is a pretty messed up situation, it’d put anyone on edge. He’s not a soldier, is he?”

Tony’s shoulders tighten, but he can hardly complain at the assessment - he’s insisted he’s not a soldier enough times. “No,” Steve agrees.

Bucky heaves an impatient sigh. “Let him be then, Steve. You can’t expect a civvy to just take being dropped in enemy territory, magical _changing_ enemy territory no less, in stride. Even if he _is_ a genius Stark.”

Tony’s shoulders tighten still further. The tension looks excruciating, but he doesn’t speak in his own defence. Still, Steve knows how capable he is of not speaking in his own defence. Ignoring the now-customary swoop of guilt, he says, “He’s one of my elite team. He’s not a soldier, but this isn’t… completely out of the ordinary either.”

Bucky looks at Steve quizzically. “I _know_ he’s one of your team, just…he can’t be expected to have the training we do either. Why are you trying to convince me he’s being rude on purpose?”

“You know,” Tony says, finally, _finally_ turning, his cheeks a dull red, from exertion and what Steve knows is embarrassment, “I am standing _right here_ while you two talk about me.”

Bucky raises his hands, insouciant smile on his face. “Hey, no offense, Stark.”

“Sorry, Tony,” Steve echoes, more subdued.

Tony makes an impatient sound. “Will you _stop_ apologising.” He whirls around again.

Bucky looks at Steve curiously. “So…you two don’t get on then. Don’t know that I’ve met that many decent people that don’t like you, Steve.” There’s a warning edge to his tone now, and Steve doesn’t like the implications Bucky is making.

“There’s nothing. It’s… strange, being seventy years in the future and meeting Howard’s kid. I did not handle it well.” Steve forces his lips to give a rueful twist.

Bucky’s laugh is warm and understanding. “Yeah, I bet. So, tell me about the future then. Did you ever get a flying car?”

“…No. I have a talking house though.”

“You’re kidding me?”

It’s Steve’s turn to chuckle. “Tony, come and tell Bucky about JARVIS.”

Tony turns back around cautiously, and gives him a wounded, betrayed stare. “JARVIS is an artificial intelligence programmed to serve as a butler throughout the tower,” he says, mechanically, like he’s giving a spiel for a magazine. “He has full access to the internet, all electronics in the house and most systems so you can ask him questions or to do things for you.”

Bucky looks suitably impressed, and Steve likes seeing that expression on his face, likes knowing Tony has validation from someone he can feel is being sincere. Bucky didn’t even really know Howard by more than reputation, so it’s not even that. “Tell him what you told me earlier,” he encourages, wanting Tony to show off, remembering with a pang the pride he once showed in his work. “Tell Bucky about JARVIS being practically a person. So human you couldn’t duplicate him here.”

Something almost panicked flits in Tony’s eyes. “I- You must have misunderstood me, Steve. That kind of programming’s impossible outside of science fiction.”

Steve is bewildered, “But you said-” he starts, but Bucky’s already talking over him.

“So he’s your robot baby?”

For the first time, a slight softening appears on Tony’s face. He flashes a smile Bucky’s way - it’s one of his much practised media expressions, but at least it’s better than scowls and open aggression. “If you want robot babies, you should meet my lab assistants. I have three, DUM-E, U and BUTT-R-FINGERS and they’re all… they’re _special_ robots.”

Bucky laughs, “That’s smart, Stark, no point in building our robot overlords, right? And I bet they look cute too, so that you can impress dames with them. Nothing a dame likes more than a guy holding a baby, but I bet a guy who can build adorable helpless robots are a close second.”

Tony gives a theatrical shudder. “I’m not allowed near babies. I’m,” he makes finger quote marks in the air to go alongside his scrunched up expression and says in a high voice that’s obviously meant to be mimicking someone, “far too irresponsible to be allowed to mould impressionable minds.”

Bucky gives a sage nod, supressing a conspiratorial grin. “We’ll let Steve here stick to kissing babies.” There’s an awkward silence when Tony fails to banter back, and Bucky looks between them. “So you two don’t see eye to eye then, huh?” he says, with characteristic bluntness.

“We-” Steve starts, not looking at Tony. Tony has come to a stop and is staring at him with that infuriating amusement, like he knows things Steve will never comprehend. “Waking up seventy years in the future was not… easy,” he says eventually.

Bucky nods. The implications seem to have finally reached him. “Everyone we know is gone, huh?” Steve can only nod. He can’t bear to mention Peggy and what happened between them. “Damn … it was just a few hours ago…”

To Steve’s surprise, it’s Tony who steps up this time, a curious sort of sympathy on his face. “It’s hard, Barnes. I, well, I _don’t_ know, but I can imagine – but there’s space for you in the tower, and I’m sure the Avengers can use one of the actual badass Howling Commandos and not Captain Sunshine here. And he was our test run, we know what worked and what didn’t, and we’ll integrate you, okay?” Bucky doesn’t say anything; he’s still grey as he contemplates what he’s lost. “Okay?” Tony pushes, giving him a little shake.

Steve watches Bucky push his grief down deep and give a nod. “Okay.” His eyes are still haunted as he casts about for another topic. “So how come you guys got to tramp through… this and your buddy got turned into a doll and gets to be carried?”

Tony huffs impatiently, his levity and support of a few moments ago dropping away as another fit of depressive frustration washes over him. “You figure out how Loki thinks and you can be leader of the Avengers. Honestly, I have no idea what’s in that psycho’s brain, and you know what?” he rounds on Steve, “I don’t care if he _is_ Thor’s brother, if we get home, I’m going to tell Bruce he was right - no, in fact, he was _wrong_. Calling Loki’s brain a bag full of cats is unfair to the cats.”

Steve blinks. “When.”

“What?”

You said ‘ _if we get home’,_ it’s not if, it’s when.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Thank you, Captain Optimism. Are you going to give us a pep talk too? Tell us it doesn’t matter if we lose as long as we try our hardest?” His tone is waspish.

Steve can feel his patience starting to ebb again. With effort, he changes the subject and turns back to Bucky, ignoring Tony’s annoyed huff, but he’s not going to reward this behaviour with attention. “You’re the only one of us with, uh, objects in your landscape. See anywhere that would make a good shelter for us to rest for a while?”

“Shouldn’t we wait until dark?”

“It doesn’t _get_ dark. You’d think a soldier of your experience would have noticed the sun doesn’t move here.”

Bucky looks startled at Tony’s sudden attack, but rallies and focuses on his surroundings. “Well, I…” he looks around. “There’s another one of those big buildings there, it’s off what looks like the main road to me. It’s got a half wall, so there’s a bit of coverage, and there’s grass out front so it’ll be more comfortable than sitting on asphalt.”

None of those details are really relevant to them, but Steve knows Bucky is struggling to assimilate everything he has learned today, everything he knows has changed and doesn’t tell him. “We’ll head for that then,” he agrees. “How far is it?”

Bucky squints a little, considering. “’Bout half a mile?”

Steve nods. Now that there’s a rest in sight, he’s aware of how _tired_ he is. His muscles might be super, but he’s been walking through unstable terrain for hours and the icy wind is rapidly sapping his endurance. They walk in silence for a while, trusting that Bucky will say when they’re there, when there’s a rippling shifting _something_ in front of them.

“Uh… can you see that?” Tony sounds unsure.

“What is it?” Bucky asks.

Steve regards it for a moment, watching a play of luminescent colours play over the black/silver/clear shimmer of the expanse. “It looks like a soap bubble,” he says, and gives an embarrassed, self-deprecating laugh when the others immediately turn to look at him.

“Really?” Tony sounds incredulous, but then a grin spreads over his face as his too-fast brain catches up with his even faster mouth. “A _soap bubble!_ Cap! It’s a wall. It’s the end of all of this, that’s why we can all see it, all of our worlds end here.”

“So now what?”

“Well, we need to get nearer to it.”

Steve hesitates. “Okay. But Tony? Don’t touch it, at least not until we’ve tested it to see if it’s safe.”

Tony gives a grudging, impatient nod. “Fine, fine, but come on. I want to get home. I want a shower.”

They start towards the rippling expanse, but soon, as though the winds sense their intent, the road is blocked by huge drifts of snow, too high and icy to be climbable. They seem to stretch on for miles.

“These definitely weren’t here before,” Tony mutters, and Steve turns to him, seeing him contemplating a problem with his head on one side. At Steve’s questioning look, Tony gestures ahead. “Dunes. No way I can climb them, the sand’s shifting too much. Can you just walk me through it?”

Steve shakes his head. “No, my way’s blocked too.”

“What are you talking about, there’s nothing here.”

They both turn to stare at Bucky. “What?”

He looks uncertain, but says again steadily, “There’s nothing here, it’s just straight road.”

Steve takes a breath and puts his Commander face back on. “Okay, Buck, you need to take my hands and walk me through it. Just like I did with the water. You need to make me believe it.”

Bucky tries, he really does, but again and again, all that happens is that Steve gets a face full of snow. “Sorry, Steve,” he says after the seventh attempt. “I’m sorry. I barely believe it myself, you know?”

And that’s the problem. He and Tony _know_ magic exists. This isn’t a shift in world view for them like it is for Bucky; no wonder it’s hard for him. 

“Look, I’ll go. It’s clear for me. I’ll go through the bubble and I’ll bring help back, okay?”

“No! It’s too dangerous.”

“Well we can’t just stay here forever!” Bucky’s temper starts to flare, and Steve takes a steadying breath.

“I- I don’t want to lose you again.”

Bucky clicks his tongue, sympathetic but impatient. “Steve, you won’t lose me. I promise. I won’t be long, I can almost touch it from here, it’s only a few metres. I’ll go and I’ll bring help.”

“I- All right.”

Bucky gives a short nod and a half smile and then steps forward a couple of paces, “Hey Steve,” he calls back as an afterthought, “let me take Clint. He might need medical attention.”

“He’s a _puppet_ ,” Tony breaks in.

Bucky shrugs. “Sure, but he isn’t usually. And you guys have that friend, Thor right? Maybe they can fix him that side of the wall. You aren’t seriously telling me that you think letting Steve drag him about by his little puppet arm is helping?”

Steve looks guiltily down at the figure he is indeed holding by the wrist. He quickly shifts it so he’s holding the puppet more securely. “Bucky-”

“C’mon, Cap,” Bucky wheedles. “I don’t like thinking of him… trapped like that. Let me help him.”

Steve shrugs. Bucky can defend Clint just fine against anything in the real world, and Steve can’t fight against the things that might be created here. He holds out the figurine to Bucky, who steps back to take it. And Tony is suddenly between them, pushing Steve’s arm down, face etched with desperation. “No.”


	10. Phil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: The team is slowly healing and starting to come together, but surprise visit from Loki that forces Tony and Steve to depend on one another may force both of them to give more than they are willing. Fourth part of First Impressions and Second Chances.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG-13  
> Disclaimer: Not mine unfortunately, though considering what I put them through, probably for the best.  
> Warning/Spoilers: ANGST, hurt Tony, hurt Steve, mindfuckery, swearing. On a more serious note, some of you will have noted this is warning for graphic violence and death, I don’t want to say anything more and ruin the surprise but I don’t want to stomp on anyone’s triggers either. If those things will upset you, this is probably not the fic for you, but please bear in mind, that not everything will be as it seems…  
> Genre: angst, hurt/comfort, gen, pre-slash (no, I’m still not announcing the pairing), slightly better friendship, though still not at the Avengers family stage yet.  
> Beta: Melpemone   
> A/N: There has been an incredible (and flattering) outpouring of response for this series. In the past, I have always tried to respond to every single review, but the volume of comments for this is such that I really don’t have time any more. I will try to respond to as many as possible, and please know that every single comment is read and appreciated. Thank you so much. You may have also noticed there’s a meta community posted under ‘misconceptions’ which can be found at either my works page or at cauldronofdoom’s, feel free to comment or discuss there.  
> The chapter title of each chapter will tell you who the POV is as, like in Cuts & Bruises, this has a rotating POV.  
> The title can be credited to AnonEhouse and a very odd conversation about Blake’s 7 we had in one of the discussion threads for the original Iron Man Yes.  
> Gifted to Kerravon, who has done such a wonderful job of podficcing this series so far. Thank you so much for being willing to put that kind of time and energy into my work. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.

** Maladjusted Geniuses and Mistaken Heroes **

Phil wakes up to the sound of shrieking medical alarms. “What is it?” he gasps, standing with his sidearm out before he has even really processed where he is. SHIELD. Medical ward. The Avengers. He rubs his free hand along his chest and then blinks his bleary eyes wide. Bruce is hovering at the side of Clint’s bed, jabbing at the blaring machine with one hand and taking Clint’s pulse with the other. Natasha is kneeling on the bed on his other side, her own gun drawn. “What’s happening?” Phil asks when an answer isn’t immediately forthcoming.

Bruce shrugs. Beneath his calm, doctorly demeanour, it’s clear he’s frantic. “I don’t know, but all his systems are going crazy. Whatever he’s experiencing… it’s not good. He’s got so much adrenaline pumping into his system he’s going to give himself a heart attack.”

Coulson holsters his weapon and steps up to the bed. He remains at the foot of it to give Bruce as much space to work as possible and looks down on the figure in front of him. Wrapped in hospital linens, Barton looks smaller than he ever has. His face is pale and still, but his lips are compressed tightly together, like he’s determined not to scream, or like he _can’t_ –and beneath his lids, Phil can see his eyes flickering wildly from side to side. His breath, too fast and too shallow, is rough enough that each exhalation sounds like a desperate sob.

Beside him, still frozen, Natasha looks almost worse than Clint does. She’s seen him injured before, seen him tortured, tortured him herself to keep up their cover, but she’s never seen him like this, and Natasha looks horrified. Her hands are very slightly unsteady on her gun. Phil reaches out and puts his hand on the barrel, intending to reassure, and her weapon is on him before he can re-evaluate. Phil waits for her brain to register him as not a threat before pulling gently on the gun. “Give this to me, Agent.”

She shakes her head, eyes dark and wild in her too pale face. “I need it. I need to watch over them.”

He tugs more insistently. “Give me the weapon, Agent Romanov. You’re in no state to be handling it right now.”

She looks mutinous, but he doesn’t waver, and after a moment Natasha relinquishes her hold. “I’m not going to sleep.”

The alarms are still shrieking, pounding right though Phil’s head, and with the immediate threat taken care of, he’s more concerned with that noise than with Natasha’s petulance. Phil’s eyes flicker over Tony and Steve. They both look pale and drained. This is not a healing, restful sleep – Phil can tell that just by looking at them, but they _are_ still asleep. Despite what they’re obviously suffering, he almost envies them the ability not to hear the awful racket Barton’s monitor is making.

Bruce gives a frustrated, muted roar and abruptly pulls the whole plug out of the wall. The information on the screen flickers and vanishes, but at least the wailing has stopped. Phil blinks. “Opinions, Doctor?”

“I _don’t know_. I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t know how to help them and Clint is… his pulse rate is through the ceiling.” Bruce still has a hand wrapped around Barton’s wrist.

“We have to try sedatives,” Natasha states. Phil looks at her sharply, but she doesn’t meet his gaze. To suggest that they impair Barton’s abilities with drugs when he’s in the middle of a hostile situation is unusual, and speaks to Natasha’s anxiety.

From the door way, a melodious voice speaks up. “Perhaps I can help.”

It’s a tall, unearthly beautiful woman. Before Phil can get a word out, Thor is elbowing his way in to stand at the door beside her. “Son of Coul, Banner, Lady Natasha – this is my mother, Frigga, wife of Odin.”

Everyone blinks. After a beat, Phil sketches a short bow. “It’s an honour to meet you.”

“And you likewise,” Frigga says, her voice gentle. “My son tells me you need my aid.”

“Yes… our friends. They are in some kind of enchanted sleep. Loki-”

Her face drops – disappointed, but not surprised. “I will do all I can to atone for the crimes of my son,” she promises softly. “We had not realised his deception in escaping, a duplicate was left in the cells in Loki’s rightful place. He should not have been allowed to cause you further grief.”

Phil doesn’t argue. Loki should never have been allowed near his people _once,_ much less twice.

“Mother,” Thor pleads softly from the door frame, “Courtly niceties can be exchanged at length later, but for now, my shield brothers need your assistance.”

“Patience, Thor,” she chides gently, but she’s already moving forward, past Phil, with a soft touch of apology on his arm. “You are the healer?” she asks Bruce.

“I- Yes. But I’m hardly an expert, not in magic.”

“Nonetheless, tell me what you can.”

Bruce straightens, and swiftly reels off what he has observed. As he speaks, a frown begins to mar Frigga’s beautiful face and she leans forward, examining the tension and terror creasing Barton’s still slumbering features. “If I may?” she asks - not Bruce, but Natasha.

Natasha nods once. “Be careful with him.”

Frigga gives her a gentle smile. “I would not let your beloved come to harm,” she promises gently, before laying her hands on each of Barton’s temples and closing her eyes . A soft lilac glow begins to emanate from the bed. Natasha tenses and fidgets, but doesn’t attempt to break Frigga’s light grip, nor her concentration. At last the Asgardian pulls back. “This is a very powerful magic,” she says, sounding concerned and tired.

“Can you tell me what it is doing to them?” Bruce asks.

“It is…” she wipes her brow with a delicate hand, and glances at Thor, whose wide eyes are beseeching her to continue. “It is keeping them asleep and trapped in a nightmare of their own making. They are together, but the world each inhabits is not precisely the same as the others.”

Bruce nods. “Well, that’s not so bad, that’s what we had guessed. We just need to find a way to wake them.”

Frigga reaches out to grip Bruce’s arm. “It is not so simple. Loki has detached their souls from their bodies – they have no anchor, no way back. If they die in the dream world, they will die in truth, and if you attempt to pull them out without thought, you could do them irreparable harm.”

The world slows, the way it always does on a mission as Phil projects the outcome of every possible option in his mind. “What must we do?” he asks steadily, gaze on the steady rise and fall of Steve’s chest and ears full of the sound of Barton’s tortured, panicking breaths.

She shakes her head. “I will attempt to find a way to wake them. For the time being, I can put a spell on their bodies which will act as a beacon. Should anything happen to them within the dream world, this beacon will give them something to follow. With a little luck and strength, they may awake that way.”  

“They have plenty of strength,” says Thor, stoutly.

She gives her son a smile. “They will have need of it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The love for this series has been incredibly inspiring and a massive ego boost. The thing that allows me to devote so much time to writing is making money though so, on that note, I'd like to promote: http://www.dragon-sanctuary.com/shop/ for which I am one of the dragon historians. These little guys a seriously cute and a really unique edition to any fantasy collection :)


	11. Steve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: The team is slowly healing and starting to come together, but surprise visit from Loki that forces Tony and Steve to depend on one another may force both of them to give more than they are willing. Fourth part of First Impressions and Second Chances.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG-13  
> Disclaimer: Not mine unfortunately, though considering what I put them through, probably for the best.  
> Warning/Spoilers: ANGST, hurt Tony, hurt Steve, mindfuckery, swearing. On a more serious note, some of you will have noted this is warning for graphic violence and death, I don’t want to say anything more and ruin the surprise but I don’t want to stomp on anyone’s triggers either. If those things will upset you, this is probably not the fic for you, but please bear in mind, that not everything will be as it seems…  
> Genre: angst, hurt/comfort, gen, pre-slash (no, I’m still not announcing the pairing), slightly better friendship, though still not at the Avengers family stage yet.  
> Beta: Melpemone   
> A/N: There has been an incredible (and flattering) outpouring of response for this series. In the past, I have always tried to respond to every single review, but the volume of comments for this is such that I really don’t have time any more. I will try to respond to as many as possible, and please know that every single comment is read and appreciated. Thank you so much. You may have also noticed there’s a meta community posted under ‘misconceptions’ which can be found at either my works page or at cauldronofdoom’s, feel free to comment or discuss there.  
> The chapter title of each chapter will tell you who the POV is as, like in Cuts & Bruises, this has a rotating POV.  
> The title can be credited to AnonEhouse and a very odd conversation about Blake’s 7 we had in one of the discussion threads for the original Iron Man Yes.  
> Gifted to Kerravon, who has done such a wonderful job of podficcing this series so far. Thank you so much for being willing to put that kind of time and energy into my work. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.

**Maladjusted Geniuses and Mistaken Heroes**

Steve blinks at Tony’s sudden appearance between himself and Bucky. “What do you mean, Tony? Get out of the way!”

“No! No, you can’t just give Clint over to someone he doesn’t know when he’s like that!” Tony’s eyes are wide and panicked, and he makes a grab for the puppet, but Steve instinctively jerks it out of reach.

Realising he can do nothing against Steve’s far superior size and strength, Tony whirls around, pushing Bucky as far back as he can. The other man lands, hard, and blood immediately wells up along the side of the hand he’d caught himself on. Bucky hisses. “What the hell, Stark? I know this is a beach to you, but I just landed on a brick!”

Tony ignores him, turning back to Steve. “You can’t, Steve. Don’t. Don’t give Clint to him.” His voice is low, pleading.

Steve locks confused eyes with Bucky’s, and Bucky shrugs as he gets to his feet. “I’m going to help your friend, Stark. I swear.”

Tony shakes his head and doesn’t look at Bucky. “Steve!” he implores again.

“It’s just Bucky, Tony,” Steve cajoles, trying to be reassuring. “He won’t hurt Clint. I know you don’t know him, but I’d trust him with my life.”

“Steve, you’re not stupid. Listen to me, _please_. You must see that there’s something wrong with this, something wrong with _him_ being magically here and the only one who can get to the wall. You _have_ to listen to me.”

Steve looks at him, uncertain, but this isn’t the laconic, devil-may-care Tony Stark he knows. This man is frantic. He glances again at Bucky’s open face. Bucky will understand; he’d always been leery of relinquishing Steve to anybody else’s care when he was vulnerable too. “Okay, Tony. All right. Clint can stay with us, while Bucky brings help.” He releases his grip, and lets Tony bring the doll to his chest in a protective hug.

Tony closes his eyes in relief and Steve looks away to give him some privacy, opening his mouth to explain and apologise. But Bucky is straightening, shoulders going back and he pulls himself up tall like he always does when he’s furious and hurt. “Bucky-” Steve starts. And stops.

Bucky keeps straightening, growing. His dark hair is lengthening, falling into his face.

Steve blinks, unable to process what he is seeing as the green cloak unfurls from Bucky’s shoulders and its hem brushes the snow.

“So, Man of Iron. Not as stupid as you appear then,” says Loki.

Tony’s gripping Clint’s wooden body so hard his knuckles are white, but he produces a smirk from somewhere. It looks forced and painful. “Loki, what an unpleasant surprise. Tell me, is there any actual _point_ to your magical little wonderland?”

Loki sneers. “I thought you would have guessed. This is your nightmare, is it not?”

Tony gives a theatrical shudder. “Yeah. Sand and sun. I just hate it, that’s why I spent fifteen years in Malibu.

Loki doesn’t look angry. If anything, he looks amused, and that frightens Steve more. He forces his limbs, frozen by shock at Bucky’s transformation, to propel him forward. He gets in one solid punch, but Loki merely rocks, holding his feet. With a lazy gesture, he sends Steve flying backward. “And you, soldier? Do you like the ice and cold, or is it not enough for you either?”

Steve doesn’t answer, fighting for his feet in the slippery slush. Tony steps forward, gauntlet powering up with a whine. “I thought we were talking about _my_ nightmare. Don’t start bantering with other people, I’ll get jealous.” He fires.

The red beam never touches Loki - instead, he vanishes, only to appear behind Tony, and grabbing him by the shoulders. “If this desert isn’t your nightmare, we’ll try sand and blood.”

Steve lurches forward, a cry of protestation escaping his lips, but the implied violence doesn’t come. Instead, the air fills with the reek of iron, strong enough to taste. Loki’s pale fingers drop from Tony’s bare shoulders. Beneath the sunburn on his face, Steve can see that he has gone _white_.

“Do you smell that? That’s what your cave smelled like, isn’t it, Man of Iron? Sand and heat and blood as you fought your way out, as… _he_ gave his life for you.”

Steve doesn’t miss the hesitation, but he doesn’t know what it means. Tony snaps his free hand down, firing the gauntlet again behind him blindly, and Loki hisses his displeasure. Loki grasps Tony’s arm and twists it behind his back, ripping the weapon off and tossing it carelessly to the ground, where it immediately disappears. Tony cries out as the wires jerk free of his Arc reactor, and the sound propels Steve out of his paralysed state. Heedless of the danger Loki’s proximity poses to both Tony and Clint, Steve charges. His body barrels straight into Loki and bears him to the ground. For a second they roll over and over, the world filling with a tumbling sense of green and white and pain, before his face is forced down into the snow, Loki’s weigh bearing him down. Steve coughs, choking desperately on the frigid slush.

“You can’t beat me here, Captain. This is my world. I _make_ the rules.”

He lets Steve up far enough that he can raise his head enough to suck in a breath of stolen air, and Steve uses the opportunity to turn his head, wildly seeking Tony, who is being held between two other Lokis. He doesn’t look hurt, but he’s curled forward as much as he can in grips that are leaving marks on his already tender shoulders. Clint is still clutched to his chest, though his other arm is twisted up his back. “Leave them alone,” Steve gasps, going lax under the weight of the Loki that is pinning him down.

“Why?” The Loki holding him relaxes slightly, his tone curious.

“Because- _please_ ,” Steve says, ignoring the way Tony’s eyes go wide and horrified.

Loki shifts his weight, to better see Steve’s face, and his eyes are dark with something more sadistic than lust. “Say that again.”

“Please,” Steve says softly, trying not to take in the look on Loki’s face. But the distraction is enough - Steve flicks the button on his watch with his thumb and clocks Loki solidly in the head with the holographic shield that appears. The Loki topples sideways and down, dazed, and Steve flings the spinning disk through the air, headed straight at the Loki twisting Tony’s arm at that agonising-looking angle.

The blow hits him squarely too and Tony twists into the second one like he’s dancing, kicking him solidly in the shin, catching Steve’s shield on the rebound and smashing it into the Loki’s face. They disappear, and Steve looks around wildly. “Do you see-” he starts to say, then stops - as a ring of what seems to be hundreds of Lokis shimmer into being, surrounding them.

Without talking, without even thinking, Tony and Steve draw together. “Any ideas, Cap?” Tony asks, levity strained with fear.

“Sure. You take the twenty on the left, I’ll take the fifty on the right.”

Tony gasps out a surprised laugh. “Any ideas that might actually work?”

Steve half turns, not quite taking his eyes off the smirking faces of their foe, but the look he gives Tony is nonetheless searing. “We only have one weapon, and my strength. I’ll make you a gap. You have to make for the wall, you have to figure out how to get through it, and you have to bring help.”

“No offense, Cap, but that’s a horrible plan. And I’m not going to just _leave_ you.”

“It’s your only chance.”

Tony bristles, “And what about _you_?”

Steve doesn’t answer that. He knows exactly how this plan ends for him. “It’s Clint’s only chance,” he says instead.

Tony growls low in his throat, but before he can respond, one of the Lokis fires a bolt of blue magic at them. They both duck, backs pushing together. Steve throws the shield, taking out one of the Lokis – the shield comes ricocheting back, but there’s already another surging forward to fill the space. The air is filled with cold manic laughter. There is a heartbeat of stillness, and then the Lokis are pushing forward as one, closing in on them.

Steve feels despair tearing at his resolve. He pushes back, slamming the shield into a blur of faces and necks, but there are too many, and they just keep coming. At his back, Tony gives a pained gasp, and Steve turns, bringing the edge of the shield down against the cold white fingers tugging at Tony’s hair.

It’s all the time they need to grab him, to jerk him roughly forward, feet sliding on the ice. There are Lokis between them and Tony is forced to turn, lashing out wildly with the only free hand he has against the sudden attack at his back. Steve snarls and kicks out, wrong footing one and jamming two fingers sharply into the kidney of another. He feels his fingers bend unnaturally against the armour between his hand and Loki’s skin, but he has more power than most and the Loki falls back with a wheeze. He lashes out with a wild right cross, striking across the temple of yet another Loki… and they are suddenly alone, but for the crumpling figure falling in the snow at Steve’s feet.

The Loki puts a hand to his head, blood smearing across the alabaster skin and gives a soft moan. He must be the real one, but Steve knows his distraction will not last long. Tony is gasping, the arm holding Clint to his chest shaking and already displaying the mottled purpling that suggests bad bruising at best. From the angle of the wrist, Steve suspects it’s more likely that his arm is broken. There isn’t time for sympathy or medical aid. Steve puts one of his own hands into the small of Tony’s back, propelling him forward. “Run!” he hisses. “Come on, Tony, _move_.”

Tony moves, lurching across the surface of the snow, Steve at his back. Loki’s distraction has extended to the impassable barrier, and they are able to make a straight line to the rippling shifting surface in front of them.

The wall, when Steve touches it, is as hard and as cool as stone. “How do we get through?”

“ _I_ don’t know,” Tony spits, voice ragged with fear and pain and anger. “I’m not an expert in _magic_.”

There’s a cold laugh behind them, a laugh picked up by a thousand echoes. Steve turns slowly, lead in his stomach. They are surrounded once again, and now all the Lokis have the left side of their face painted with streaks of scarlet blood. It’s an unsettling image. Steve squares his weight, placing himself solidly in front of Tony. “Well, _figure it out_ ,” he snarls back, and throws his shield.

It knocks out one, but another snatches it smoothly out of the air. “A clever toy Captain. But one only here because I allow it.” The Loki snaps his fingers, and Steve’s wrist is bare, the disk gone from his hand.

Steve swallows but doesn’t move. “That’s fine,” he says, “I can do this all day.”

Behind him, he’s aware of Tony running his hands over the wall and muttering, a mixture of frantic pleas and mathematical equations.

Steve is braced to take on the army in front of him, but the attack doesn’t come. Instead Loki laughs again, and is mirrored by his thousands of counterparts. It’s eerie, watching them giggle in tandem. “You really thought it was that simple? Find the wall? Get out of the bubble?”

Tony turns slowly. He’s utterly expressionless as he says, “It’s not a bubble.”

“It is not,” Loki agrees mockingly, and with another click of his fingers the wall vanishes, leaving Tony who had been leaning against it stumbling, and nothing but more barren landscape to be seen.

“What do you _want_?” Steve demands, brain racing to come up with another plan, any plan.

Loki tilts his head like he hadn’t been expecting the question, but he doesn’t need to think for long. “The archer. Give me the archer and you may go free.”

“ _No_ ,” Tony says, furious, not at Loki, but at _Steve_. “No. You can’t. I won’t let you.”

Steve meets his eyes for the briefest moment. “I know. I wouldn’t.” He turns back to Loki. “Try and take him.”

It’s the invitation Loki has been waiting for. He sweeps his arm, and his army of duplicates surge forward. There’s no give in the surging crowd and, weaponless, they’re overpowered with ease. Steve’s head is forced back by a tight grip on his hair, but he can still see the one he judges to be the true Loki stalking closer to Tony. He ignores Clint, who’s been dropped, forgotten in the snow, and runs his fingers down Tony’s chest, nail teasing around the rim of the Arc reactor.

A high noise of fear escapes Tony’s throat, but he lashes out, wrenching his own head forward to try and butt Loki in the face. The demi-god dodges the blow, but gets a face full of blood when Tony spits in his face with a wordless snarl. “I cannot change your heart because of this,” Loki says, softly, placing his palm over the reactor entirely, the light giving his fingers a shimmering otherworldly tinge. “But it makes it easy to take your heart entirely.”

For a second Steve doesn’t understand, then there’s a click and a hiss and Loki is holding the Arc reactor, connected to Tony only by the slenderest of wires. Tony makes the same fearful whine as he had before and Steve struggles until he feels a muscle in his shoulder tear. It wrenches a cry of agony from him, and Loki turns to look at him, expressionless and calm. “ _Don’t_!” Steve grinds out, either demand or plea.

Loki smiles at Steve beatifically, and _tugs_. The wire detaches from the hollow in Tony’s chest and he makes a sputtering, choking sound. Steve struggles and kicks, injured shoulder all but forgotten and sprays of snow flying everywhere as he fights to get to Tony. He has no idea what he’s screaming, only that he is, and Tony gasps and wheezes in the arms of the Lokis holding him, turning grey and unfocussed before sagging between them. Dead weight. The Lokis drop him unceremoniously into the snow. He doesn’t move.

Tony is too still. Loki hasn’t moved, his dead eyes and calm smile still riveted to Steve. “And now you, Captain.”

Steve barely hears him, eyes riveted to Tony, face down, not breathing.

Loki saunters forward until he is in front of Steve. Bending, he retrieves Clint from the snow as he does so, tenderly brushing the little shoulders and head and face clear with a single finger. Steve jerks in the arms of his captors as Loki gets close. He’s never felt blazing hatred like this. “Are you ready to die, Captain?”

Steve snarls, choking on his rage. “I’m going to kill you.”

Loki runs a hand down his cheek. It feels like ice and leaves a burning trail in its wake. Steve tosses his head, but can’t dislodge the unwelcomely intimate touch. “Not if I kill you first,” Loki breathes, almost too quiet to be heard. He manipulates the figure in his arms, pushing Clint’s little wooden hands together like he’s praying, and sets the fingers against Steve’s throat, above the ridge of his uniform. They prickle, sharply uncomfortable, like a too-large splinter.

Steve realises what he’s going to do an instant before he does it. “No!” he gasps out - Loki can’t use Clint as a weapon to hurt people, not again. But he can’t move against the sawing agony of something blunt wielded with impossible pressure, punching through his skin and ripping through him. The last thing he sees is the black shirt of the puppet, glistening wetly as it’s sodden with blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the incredible support this series has received. What allows me to keep writing is being able to make money so I'd appreciate it if you'd all check out http://www.dragon-sanctuary.com/shop/ for which I am one of the dragon historians. Thank you *so much* to those who have already purchased, to the rest of you, I'd like to offer a money off coupon. When ordering your dragon simply type IKNOWAWRITER into the coupon box at the end of the check out to receive money off.


	12. Phil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: The team is slowly healing and starting to come together, but surprise visit from Loki that forces Tony and Steve to depend on one another may force both of them to give more than they are willing. Fourth part of First Impressions and Second Chances.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG-13  
> Disclaimer: Not mine unfortunately, though considering what I put them through, probably for the best.  
> Warning/Spoilers: ANGST, hurt Tony, hurt Steve, mindfuckery, swearing. On a more serious note, some of you will have noted this is warning for graphic violence and death, I don’t want to say anything more and ruin the surprise but I don’t want to stomp on anyone’s triggers either. If those things will upset you, this is probably not the fic for you, but please bear in mind, that not everything will be as it seems…  
> Genre: angst, hurt/comfort, gen, pre-slash (no, I’m still not announcing the pairing), slightly better friendship, though still not at the Avengers family stage yet.  
> Beta: Melpemone   
> A/N: There has been an incredible (and flattering) outpouring of response for this series. In the past, I have always tried to respond to every single review, but the volume of comments for this is such that I really don’t have time any more. I will try to respond to as many as possible, and please know that every single comment is read and appreciated. Thank you so much. You may have also noticed there’s a meta community posted under ‘misconceptions’ which can be found at either my works page or at cauldronofdoom’s, feel free to comment or discuss there.  
> The chapter title of each chapter will tell you who the POV is as, like in Cuts & Bruises, this has a rotating POV.  
> The title can be credited to AnonEhouse and a very odd conversation about Blake’s 7 we had in one of the discussion threads for the original Iron Man Yes.  
> Gifted to Kerravon, who has done such a wonderful job of podficcing this series so far. Thank you so much for being willing to put that kind of time and energy into my work. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.

**Maladjusted Geniuses and Mistaken Heroes**

When the monitors go off again, breaking the uneasy silence that has settled over the room, Phil’s head comes up so sharply that he almost butts heads with Pepper. Natasha bolts upright up from whatever not-quite-sleeping trance she’s in, and Bruce fumbles with his glasses, coming to his feet without being truly awake. They all look in Barton’s direction. He’s still tossing and turning, still making the whimpering moans that have been putting Phil’s teeth on edge for the past several hours, but his monitors look the same as they always have.

It takes a moment for Phil to realise that it’s not Barton who’s causing the problem at all, and by then Tony is sitting up. One hand is clawing frantically over his Arc reactor, and the other is fighting his way free of linens and the IV line. “Steve!” he screams, eyes almost black and darting, frantic and unseeing, around the room. 

“Tony!” Pepper cries out, gently reaching for Tony’s shaking form. He recoils sharply from her approach with a sound of mixed fury and terror, and takes his hand from his reactor to ward her off. Pepper stops outside of his range, lowering her tone to something soothing and gentle. “It’s okay, Tony. You’re safe, you’re in the hospital, it’s just me.”

“I’ll go and get Thor,” Natasha says quietly, peeling herself away from Clint’s side.

Phil gives a short nod to show he’s heard her. Pepper’s cold fingers find Phil’s and grip hard. He squeezes back, reassuring her the best he can. Tony is still thrashing but his eyes have started to lose the wild cast – some of Pepper’s soothing monologue is getting through.

Bruce edges up close and puts a hand on Tony’s shoulder, not – quite – holding him down. Tony jerks again, but lucidity is starting to creep into his eyes. “Br- Bruce?”

“Yeah, Tony, it’s me, you’re fine,” Bruce says gently, carefully repeating Pepper’s words.

Tony closes his eyes and swallows. “Loki?”

“Disappeared.”

Tony flinches. “And the others?”

“They’re here. They’re still under. Let me check you over, okay?”

Tony’s eyes open wide with clear realisation, and he shoves Bruce’s gentle hand away forcefully. “They’re still there. _Loki’s_ there. They need my help. I need- ”

“Tony,” Thor enters the room in a rush, Frigga standing regally behind him. “I am relieved to see you have awakened.”

Tony shakes his head wildly. “I have to get back. I have to… Loki. Thor, please.”

Thor looks distressed. “Tony, my friend, it wasn’t real. It was just a construct of Loki’s creation.”

“No. Loki’s _there_.” Tony insists, looking desperate.

Thor looks uncertainly toward his mother. Phil clenches his jaw. He doesn’t like the idea of Steve and Barton being suddenly down an ally, but he likes less the idea of sending Tony back to the place that put this dreadful look on his face. But before either of them can say anything, another monitor starts wailing, and Steve bolts upright with a yell.

Phil joins Bruce in keeping Tony pinned in place. If Steve’s awakening is anything like Tony’s they can’t risk anyone being hit by a flying super soldier fist.

It’s Thor who rushes to reassure Steve, ducking his foot as it flies towards him with enough force to crack a wall. Pinning him down by the shoulders, Thor looks full into Steve’s face, trying to impress his presence upon the frightened man. “Captain. It is well. You are here with us.”

The little Phil can see of his face tells him that Steve looks even more horrified than Tony did. His blue eyes are pools of terror. He holds Thor’s gaze, terror gradually bleeding away – to be replaced with distrust. “Thor?”

“Aye.”

“How do I know it’s really you?”

Thor shakes his head. “I cannot prove to you that I am not one of my brother’s tricks. You must trust me.”

Steve stops straining to flee, but the wary expression doesn’t fade. Obviously keen to calm him, Thor asks, “Would you like to see Tony?”

Steve starts again. “Tony died. I saw him.”

“No, Steve, I’m here,” Tony calls from the other bed, knocking away Bruce and Phil’s hands. Phil helps him to his feet, and his legs wobble slightly with disuse, but there are no injuries preventing him from walking. Steve looks like he’s watching a ghost as Tony makes his careful way across the room. “I thought Loki had… but I’m fine.” And, unbidden, he pulls at the neckline of his hospital gown, pulling it down far enough to show Steve the blue circle in his chest before letting it spring back up into place.

Steve still looks wary, but he shakes off Thor’s arms and sits upright, unaided. “And you’re not-?”

“I’m me,” Tony promises softly, intently. “I _swear_. I can’t speak for anyone else, but I’m me.”

Steve swallows, but there’s acceptance in his eyes, and he nods once. “And Clint?”

“He’s here,” Phil says, and Tony and Steve both jump as their gazes rip apart. “He’s still- ”

“He’s still _there_. Alone!” Tony interjects. “Steve, we have to get back. We _have_ to…”

“Tell me,” Frigga says, suddenly. “Where were you?”

Steve swaps another look with Tony. “We don’t know, ma’am.”

Phil makes space for her as she crosses to the bed. “I know you have no reason to trust me, but I am Thor’s mother and was Loki’s first tutor in magic. I must know everything you can tell me if I am to help your friend.”

There’s a pause while Steve considers. Frigga is radiating calm and reassurance, and it seems to help, and the distrust fades a little further from Steve’s eyes. “It was a world Loki created. It was-”

“He created it from our nightmares,” Tony interrupts. His voice is quiet, almost subdued, and his nails are leaving bloody crescents where he is clinging to Steve’s shoulder.

Frigga nods, lips pursed in thought.

“Can we get back?” Steve demands, “For Clint?”

“I do not believe so, I am sorry. That kind of construct is specific to the caster. I could send you into a world of your nightmares, even a shared one, but I do not believe it would be the world Loki created. However, I was successful in tethering your minds to your bodies. When Agent Barton dies in the realm Loki has created, he should wake here.”

Tony hisses, horrified. “We’re not just going to leave him alone with Loki until he gets _tired_ of him.”

Natasha takes Phil’s other hand, that Pepper is not clinging to, and Phil squeezes her fingers too. He is not sure which of them is comforting the other. “Tony’s right,” he says to Frigga, keeping his tone respectful. “We can’t just leave him.”

Helplessly, Frigga spreads her hands. “There is nothing more I can do. I am sorry.”

“What about a telepath?” Steve says. “Could that help?”

Phil shakes his head. “We already had Xavier look you all over. He couldn’t read you at all. Whatever Loki is doing, he’s able to keep it hidden.”

Tony touches a hand to his temple. “Xavier checked us all?”

“Yes,” Phil answers shortly, half expecting Tony to complain about this violation of privacy - but he just nods, gaze on Barton’s shivering form. Phil’s eyes are inexorably drawn down to Tony’s fingers, which are clenching and unclenching, as though he wants to be holding something.

Steve shakes his head, decided. “Let me up.”

“You should rest,” Bruce objects, but Steve glares at him, and Bruce backs off with a shrug. Phil doesn’t object - there’s nothing _wrong_ with any of them, even Barton’s sleep seems natural and not a coma.

Tony moves with him, tugging on Steve’s arm, and supporting his wavering muscles until he’s standing. 

They move in tandem. Phil hasn’t seen them in tune like this off the battlefield, but no one else seems to notice. Their steps are perfectly aligned with one another’s, and, even without looking, Steve is able to shoot out a hand to support Tony’s elbow when his weakened legs give out sharply under him. They reach the chairs on the other side of the bed from Natasha at the same moment, and drop into them.

Tony leans in to Steve conspiringly . “Do you think he’s still a-” he asks in an undertone, shooting an uneasy glance around the overcrowded room.

Steve doesn’t get a chance to answer. Clint’s eyes shoot open, and he sits bolt upright with a scream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the incredible support this series has received. What allows me to keep writing is being able to make money so I'd appreciate it if you'd all check out http://www.dragon-sanctuary.com/shop/ for which I am one of the dragon historians. Thank you *so much* to those who have already purchased, to the rest of you, I'd like to offer a money off coupon. When ordering your dragon simply type IKNOWAWRITER into the coupon box at the end of the check out to receive money off.


	13. 13A: Phil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: The team is slowly healing and starting to come together, but surprise visit from Loki that forces Tony and Steve to depend on one another may force both of them to give more than they are willing. Fourth part of First Impressions and Second Chances.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG-13  
> Disclaimer: Not mine unfortunately, though considering what I put them through, probably for the best.  
> Warning/Spoilers: ANGST, hurt Tony, hurt Steve, mindfuckery, swearing. On a more serious note, some of you will have noted this is warning for graphic violence and death, I don’t want to say anything more and ruin the surprise but I don’t want to stomp on anyone’s triggers either. If those things will upset you, this is probably not the fic for you, but please bear in mind, that not everything will be as it seems…  
> Genre: angst, hurt/comfort, gen, pre-slash (no, I’m still not announcing the pairing), slightly better friendship, though still not at the Avengers family stage yet.  
> Beta: Melpemone   
> A/N: The chapter title of each chapter will tell you who the POV is as, like in Cuts & Bruises, this has a rotating POV.  
> The title can be credited to AnonEhouse and a very odd conversation about Blake’s 7 we had in one of the discussion threads for the original Iron Man Yes.  
> Gifted to Kerravon, who has done such a wonderful job of podficcing this series so far. Thank you so much for being willing to put that kind of time and energy into my work. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.
> 
> Sorry for the delay on this chapter guys, I have been busy and my beta has been sick, hopefully we will now be back to our regular weekly schedule. This fic will now be a few more chapters than expecting as chapter 13, which was a complicated mash up of scenes with POV changes, will now be posted as several different chapters. Enjoy!

**Maladjusted Geniuses and Mistaken Heroes**

SHIELD, it was a well-known fact, ran on coffee and gossip. And for all Fury likes to claim that he’s the wizard behind the curtain and immune to such things, he’s just as susceptible to gossip as anyone else. It is this fact, and _only_ this fact, which convinces Phil to peel himself away from his team. None of them are injured, and none of the three caught up in Loki’s spell are talking, but he knows that something unpleasant went down, and they’re far from being the only ones affected. He’s had time over these past few days to develop a real sense of respect for the control Banner exercises on a near-daily basis. 

And, since all of them apparently received the same brain damage which has led to them deciding that injury – physical _or_ psychological – was a weakness to be hidden at all costs, he would have liked to be around for the doctor’s verdict this afternoon. Trying to glean information after the fact will be all but impossible, unless he plays them off against one another. They might be cavalier with their own safety, but they _are_ quick to point out help the others might need. However, efficient though that might be, he’s loathe to do it. Things are just finally starting to settle – the team is finally coming together as they should have been from the start.

What he cannot do, however, is take the risk of Fury starting to believe whatever rubbish the junior agents have taken to repeating as gospel this week. He suspects that there are some less-than-flattering aspersions being cast on Barton being able to be taken by Loki _again._ And the thought of Stark under a mad demi-god’s power is, frankly, outright unsettling. That man’s a third of the way to being a supervillain anyway - the last thing any of them need is to see him allied with one. Besides, whatever Fury may or may not believe – susceptible he might be, but he’s far from stupid – is irrelevant. The World Security Council has already demonstrated that they need remarkably little incentive to fight for the disbandment of the Initiative.

All of this is why he finds himself heading away from medical for the first time in… well… longer than he actually wants to think about, really. Coulson trades a brief look with Pepper, hoping to psychically communicate to her that she needs to sweet-talk the doctor into telling her whatever he can that isn’t strictly forbidden by doctor/patient confidentiality. He suspects Pepper won’t find this difficult.

The director is seated at his desk when Phil comes in. Unlike when he summons juniors, or when Phil wanders in just to prove that he’s important enough that he can do so, he isn’t feigning work. Instead, his hands are clasped loosely on the desk in front of him, and his posture is calm and still. Phil takes a seat uninvited and the pair simply regard one another. Fury isn’t upset or frantic or any other emotion that only a handful of people in the world would believe he could ever be, but he isn’t the hardened, uncaring director of SHIELD either.

“What’s up, Nick?” Phil asks.

“Hammer’s back in jail where he belongs, and his software is currently being stripped out of my helicarrier,” Fury begins. “Unfortunately, that means we’re still in the market for a security upgrade.”

Phil isn’t really sure where Nick’s going with this. He blinks slowly. “I think I know someone who might suit your requirements. Brilliant programmer, high enough security clearance that explaining to him what you want won’t be a problem, already has a full security algorithm designed just for you drawn up according to his PA…” He trails off expectantly.

“Stark.”

Phil is very nearly sarcastic. But he tries not to be as much as he can, so that when he is, it’s truly devastating. Secluded in the private office with his oldest friend, he simply lacks the audience. Instead, he nods once.

“Already drawn it up?”

“While you were being the big bad wolf, according to Pepper.”

“That’s convenient.” Nick looks pensive for a moment, as though he’s regretting his actions in trying to force Rogers to see Stark as a victim. Or possibly he’s wondering how big a team it would take to break into Stark’s workshop and secure the code he needs.

They could talk around this subject for hours, but Phil really does want to get back to medical, so he decides to help Nick along. “All Stark ever wanted was recognition. Just ask him for it. I’m sure he won’t be… well, no, he _will_ be, you chose Hammer tech over his stuff but-” Phil takes perverse pleasure in favouring Nick with one of his rare bright grins. He likes to think that if he hadn’t been in a coma he would have handled this situation much better.

“As handler to the Avengers, Phil, I think this falls well within your-”

“No, not a chance.”

Nick scowls at him. Phil’s well aware that The Scowl can back Natasha down, but he just widens his smile. He’s known Nick for too long, he can see that this isn’t actual anger, merely a sulk. “I am actually your boss,” he reminds Phil, not for the first time.

“Won’t work, _boss_. I didn’t choose Hammer tech. This one’s all on you.” Besides, it would reassure Rogers that he and SHIELD were on the same page regarding Stark, and would remind even the more paranoid parts of Natasha and Barton that Stark is trusted enough. And it would score him bonus points with Pepper. Nick might hit two birds whenever he threw a stone, but Phil liked to think he could take out a whole flock.

Nick huffs, but doesn’t object. Whatever he dragged Phil in here for, it wasn’t this, not entirely. Phil’s just about to say something when Nick interjects. “How are they? How are they holding up?”

“They…” it’s Phil’s turn to sigh, hand rubbing absently at the thick pink scar on his chest. “Loki’s a bastard. But they’ll be fine.”

Nick gives a short laugh, and, between one heartbeat and the next, he hardens minutely, turning from Phil’s best friend into his boss before his very eyes. Phil straightens slightly in his chair. “Tell Barton he’ll have to pass another psych eval,” Fury says, eyes dropping briefly to the papers on his desk. “Stark and Rogers will too, but, so long as he does that, he’s back on the team. The hearing concluded in his favour. They didn’t really have a choice after Stark.” Nick gives a wolfish grin.

Phil recognises a dismissal when he hears one. “Yes, sir. Anything else?”

Fury shakes his head. Phil stands, and makes to leave. “Phil.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Keep an eye on them.”

It’s half worry for their safety, half admonishment of what they can get up to without close supervision. Phil can empathise. “Of course, sir. I’ll tell Stark to expect you.” And he ducks out the door before the director can say, or most likely throw, anything.   


	14. 13B: Tony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: The team is slowly healing and starting to come together, but surprise visit from Loki that forces Tony and Steve to depend on one another may force both of them to give more than they are willing. Fourth part of First Impressions and Second Chances.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG-13  
> Disclaimer: Not mine unfortunately, though considering what I put them through, probably for the best.  
> Warning/Spoilers: ANGST, hurt Tony, hurt Steve, mindfuckery, swearing. On a more serious note, some of you will have noted this is warning for graphic violence and death, I don’t want to say anything more and ruin the surprise but I don’t want to stomp on anyone’s triggers either. If those things will upset you, this is probably not the fic for you, but please bear in mind, that not everything will be as it seems…  
> Genre: angst, hurt/comfort, gen, pre-slash (no, I’m still not announcing the pairing), slightly better friendship, though still not at the Avengers family stage yet.  
> Beta: Melpemone   
> A/N: There has been an incredible (and flattering) outpouring of response for this series. In the past, I have always tried to respond to every single review, but the volume of comments for this is such that I really don’t have time any more. I will try to respond to as many as possible, and please know that every single comment is read and appreciated. Thank you so much. You may have also noticed there’s a meta community posted under ‘misconceptions’ which can be found at either my works page or at cauldronofdoom’s, feel free to comment or discuss there.  
> The chapter title of each chapter will tell you who the POV is as, like in Cuts & Bruises, this has a rotating POV.  
> The title can be credited to AnonEhouse and a very odd conversation about Blake’s 7 we had in one of the discussion threads for the original Iron Man Yes.  
> Gifted to Kerravon, who has done such a wonderful job of podficcing this series so far. Thank you so much for being willing to put that kind of time and energy into my work. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.

**Maladjusted Geniuses and Mistaken Heroes**

“I don’t remember anything,” Clint insists mulishly, for the seventh time.

He’s cross legged on his bed. They’re still in medical because, even though there’s nothing wrong with them now they’re awake, SHIELD won’t discharge them without tests. And Agent – the bastard – had told him he’d tase him into next Wednesday if he even thought about signing out AMA - which is unfair, Steve and Clint are just as likely to do that as he is. But that’s not the point. The point right now is Clint, who is doing a passable impression of anger, his body tightly coiled and his fists clenched. He’d had a full blown screaming match with Natasha earlier, which is why the three of them are stuck together alone to cool off. Tony would remember _that_ the next time he decided to stick his oar into someone else’s relationship argument. And apparently, now they’re awake they don’t need an armed contingent… not that Tony thinks they’ve gone far.

Tony himself is not sitting cross-legged, because it makes him feel too much like he’s doing yoga and that… well, let’s just say he does not have good memories associated with his yoga class. He does, however, pull himself out of the relaxed sprawl he’s affected to show he knows this conversation is serious. He tenses in preparation for the motion to tug badly burned skin - but it doesn’t, the burns aren’t real, none of it was. His fingers dance a nervous tattoo on his chest and Steve gives him a small concerned frown. Tony ignores him, focussed on Clint. Clint - who’s trying so _hard_ to be angry, but by Tony’s estimation he’s more _terrified_ , to judge by the blank look in his eyes. Tony gets that, he does, he knows it’s the look on his face when he wakes up panting from another nightmare – a real one at least and not a Loki mindfuck. And what’s the point of being a billionaire if he doesn’t at least merit his own room so everyone doesn’t get to witness his panic attacks?

“You’ve _said_ ,” Tony probes, tilting his head to try and catch Clint’s eyes, “repeatedly. But don’t you think that’s weird, Clint? I mean, we remember. I get if you don’t want to talk about it, but-” 

Clint snarls at him. “Well, I don’t. Maybe it’s just your brain that’s awesome enough.”

Tony’s an expert at being deliberately antagonistic (no really, Rhodey had him a certificate printed once), so he just gives a shit-eating grin. “My brain _is_ awesome. Steve, on the other hand, is nothing special - and he remembers. Come on, even _you’re_ smarter than Rogers. You’re a master assassin, he’s just a jarhead.” 

“ _Even_ me?” Clint says dangerously.

Tony winces. “The rest of that sentence is complimentary, and I don’t think you should hold one word against me.”

“Jarheads are marines,” Steve interrupts, before the argument can become full-fledged. “So it doesn’t apply to me. Your brain isn’t so awesome after all, it would seem.” Then, before Tony can form a response, he says gently, “But Tony’s right, Clint. You should be able to remember something. Either Loki did something different to you, or…”

Clint sneers. “Or I’m a liar.”

“That’s not… I understand if you don’t want to talk about it. But just ignoring it can’t possibly be helping.” He’s doing his I-am-outlining-reasonable-ideas-in-a-non-aggressive-way voice.

Tony already knows that’s not going to work, and is proved right when Clint flops back on the bed and says tonelessly to the ceiling, “I don’t remember anything.” Clint grins. The grin is the dangerously mad relative of his usual cocky smirk. “Maybe I repressed it because it was too traumatic.”  

“That’s bullshit,” Tony says bluntly. “Believe me, I don’t want to talk to a SHIELD psychiatrist either, and the first time she mentions my father I am going home _there_ and _then_ , Fury be damned, but your refusal to co-operate is just making everyone nervous that Loki can take control of you again at any moment. They’re going to _bench you_ Barton, maybe permanently, if you don’t give them something.”

“I don’t remember anything,” Clint sing songs, and Tony thinks this is maybe what he sounds like under interrogation.

“Clint-”

“Just leave it, Steve!” Clint snaps and rolls over, facing the wall.

Tony doubts he’ll sleep. He looks helplessly at Steve who spreads his big hands wide. He doesn’t know what to do either. Tony sighs, and deliberately takes his eyes off Steve’s hands. Maybe Natasha will be able to beat some sense into Clint. “I’m bored.”

“I’m bored.”

“You’re always bored.”

“Not true, sometimes I’m building robots.” 

Steve smiles at him as though he thinks Tony’s joking. He’s not. Instead, he picks up the little plastic fork left over from his fruit cup at lunch. He’s not Clint, but he still manages to hit Steve in the arm. “I’m _bored_.”

Steve sighs. “Well, what do you want me to do about it?” 

“Play with me,” Tony says, and then blinks. That sounded far filthier than he intended. Fortunately, Steve doesn’t seem to have noticed, though he does look at him a bit strangely when he babbles, “A game, I mean, let’s play a game. Ooooo, I’ve got one, I say one line of a story and you say the next line and so on and the story has to be about why Fury wears an eye patch. Okay? Let’s go. Nick Fury walked into a baker’s shop one day and in the queue were seventeen ninjas.” 

He blinks expectantly at Steve, who says: “Tony, I don’t think that’s an appropriate game for SHIELD headquarters.” 

“No, see, you have to say the next line of the story, that doesn’t fit.” 

“Tony-”

“I’m not listening, you have to give a line that follows _Nick_ _Fury walked into a baker’s shop one day and in the queue were seventeen ninjas_.” 

“He’s going to be really insulted when I tell him you think he couldn’t handle seventeen ninjas,” says a dry voice from the door. 

“Agent!” Tony says, gleefully, because anything to relieve the monotony is welcome at this point. Trying to make Steve’s head explode is fun, but not as fun as irritating Agent usually is.

Agent gives him that little non-smile. “Mr. Stark. How are you feeling?”

“I’m bored,” Tony whines. Agent knows fine and well the possible consequences of leaving him trapped here and bored, and he’s sure this complaint will get him discharged earlier.

Instead, Agent just rolls his eyes. “The others are in the visitors’ room. Why don’t you go and let them know you didn’t all kill each other. I need to speak to my asset.”

Tony nearly complains - yeah, he’s fed up of being quarantined in this room in case Loki does suddenly manifest in them in some way, but he’s far more interested in hearing what Agent is going to say to Clint. Unfortunately, Steve doesn’t give him a chance, manhandling him to his feet. “Come on, Tony.”

*

 _Actually, I could get used to being fussed around like this_ , Tony thinks when he enters the visitors’ room and is instantly deluged with several people all anxious to wait on him and get him drinks and snacks and check he’s okay. In fact, if he hadn’t been sure this solicitousness is because he woke them all up by screaming last night, it would be perfect.

Bruce’s barrage of concerned medical questions doesn’t let up. When are they going to figure out that he’s fine? That it was just a bad dream, albeit a magical one?

“Rhodey’s coming,” Pepper pipes up, when she can get a word in edgeways. “Yeah?” he says, smiling brightly. 

“Yeah. He’s been worried about you, but couldn’t get away from his assignment.”

Tony narrows his eyes. “You haven’t been telling people, have you? You haven’t been telling people that Tony Stark, that _Iron Man_ can’t handle a few bad dreams?”

“It was more than a mere dream,” Thor intones, just as he has every time Tony (or Clint, or Steve) has uttered this sentiment. Tony ignores him.

Pepper gives a long-suffering sigh. “Only Rhodey. Everyone else thinks you’ve just been hospitalised doing something dangerous again. Oh, and I did tell Ms. Carter. Rhodey’ll bring her when he comes.”

Steve gives a whole body flinch, and Tony lays a hand on his arm without thinking about it, then jerks back like he’s been burned when Bruce and Natasha gape at him. “What? You get stuck in a crazy-ass magical world with Loki for company. We’ve _bonded_.”

Bruce snorts. Tony sticks his tongue out at him.


	15. 13C: Tony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: The team is slowly healing and starting to come together, but surprise visit from Loki that forces Tony and Steve to depend on one another may force both of them to give more than they are willing. Fourth part of First Impressions and Second Chances.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG-13  
> Disclaimer: Not mine unfortunately, though considering what I put them through, probably for the best.  
> Warning/Spoilers: ANGST, hurt Tony, hurt Steve, mindfuckery, swearing. On a more serious note, some of you will have noted this is warning for graphic violence and death, I don’t want to say anything more and ruin the surprise but I don’t want to stomp on anyone’s triggers either. If those things will upset you, this is probably not the fic for you, but please bear in mind, that not everything will be as it seems…  
> Genre: angst, hurt/comfort, gen, pre-slash (no, I’m still not announcing the pairing), slightly better friendship, though still not at the Avengers family stage yet.  
> Beta: Melpemone   
> A/N: The chapter title of each chapter will tell you who the POV is as, like in Cuts & Bruises, this has a rotating POV.  
> The title can be credited to AnonEhouse and a very odd conversation about Blake’s 7 we had in one of the discussion threads for the original Iron Man Yes.  
> Gifted to Kerravon, who has done such a wonderful job of podficcing this series so far. Thank you so much for being willing to put that kind of time and energy into my work. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.
> 
> Sorry about the length of this one guys, but, if it's any consolation, regular chapters resume next week :)

**Maladjusted Geniuses and Mistaken Heroes**

“How did you know?” Steve asks quietly, the room still now that the others and all their chatter have left.

“Know what?” Tony’s attention is mostly on the tablet he’d bribed Bruce to give him.

“Bucky.” Steve chokes out, and Tony looks up in alarm, setting the tablet across his knees. “You knew… I’d have given him Clint… I…” Steve’s tone is raw and wounded, but his eyes are burning as he locks his gaze with Tony. “How did you _know_? How did you know not to trust him?”

“I… I didn’t.” Tony looks away, sinking his teeth into his lip.

“Tony! Come on, you obviously knew _something_. You can tell me, I won’t… won’t be offended or anything; I know I failed. I know I let Loki deceive me.”

“Steve, no!” Tony cuts off Steve’s self-loathing words. “You didn’t. If you failed, so did I.”

“But you stopped him! You _knew_!”

“I _didn’t_ ,” Tony says again, and this time it sounds like an admission. “I was just…” Tony forces himself to look up and meet Steve’s eyes. “I was just being an ass. I was afraid… I… We didn’t exactly have the best beginning, Cap, and I was afraid Barnes was going to hear all of your stories about me and be another friend I failed to make.” He gives a hollow laugh. “I didn’t know anything. I just didn’t like the idea of him being trusted more than me to carry Clint out of danger.”

Silence falls again.

“I didn’t trust him more than you,” Steve says eventually.

Tony nods at that. “I noticed. Why?”

This time, it’s Steve’s turn to give a false-sounding laugh. “Because I thought Bucky would get where I was coming from and would forgive me. I needed to prove I trusted you - more than I needed another buddy moment with him. Bucky knows I trust… trusted… him with my life, with the lives of anyone and everyone I care about. I needed you to know the same.”

“That’s…” Tony doesn’t know what he wants to say, _that’s nice_ seems wholly inadequate. “That’s what saved our lives?” he says instead.

Steve blanches, like an awful memory has just assaulted him. “’Saved our lives’ isn’t how I would phrase it,” he says, dryly, “but yeah. If I hadn’t needed to prove myself to you, if I hadn’t been such an ass when we first met… I’d have given Clint to Loki.”

Tony smirks, glee bubbling up in him inappropriately. “My powers of assholery are _lifesaving_.”


	16. 13D: Tony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: The team is slowly healing and starting to come together, but surprise visit from Loki that forces Tony and Steve to depend on one another may force both of them to give more than they are willing. Fourth part of First Impressions and Second Chances.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG-13  
> Disclaimer: Not mine unfortunately, though considering what I put them through, probably for the best.  
> Warning/Spoilers: ANGST, hurt Tony, hurt Steve, mindfuckery, swearing. On a more serious note, some of you will have noted this is warning for graphic violence and death, I don’t want to say anything more and ruin the surprise but I don’t want to stomp on anyone’s triggers either. If those things will upset you, this is probably not the fic for you, but please bear in mind, that not everything will be as it seems…  
> Genre: angst, hurt/comfort, gen, pre-slash (no, I’m still not announcing the pairing), slightly better friendship, though still not at the Avengers family stage yet.  
> Beta: Melpemone   
> A/N: I am so sorry for the delay guys, work has been absolutely mental. 2 teachers have been on holiday so I have had dozens of cover classes, teaching, not just more than usual but kids and syllabuses that I'm unfamiliar with. Hopefully we can get back to a sort of regular schedule now that one of them is back. This series IS NOT abandoned, just posting has slowed down. I hope you'll all continue to stick with me.

**Maladjusted Geniuses and Mistaken Heroes**

Tony’s sitting alone in the room and playing idly with the SHIELD intranet, wondering if it’s worth the inevitable reaming out from Hill if he connects to the wider internet so he can pass the time playing YouTube videos, but before he can decide he hears a heavy tread. Tony looks up from his tablet, at this point willing to talk to even the most dour of the doctors in this place if it’ll relieve the boredom… and finds himself staring at Fury.

The director looks supremely out of place, his heavy black duster stark against the aggressively white walls. He must also have intended to be heard – Tony doesn’t doubt that, despite his size, Fury could move as quietly as Natasha if he wanted to. “They’re not here,” Tony blurts out unthinkingly.

Fury gives him a considering look. “Who?”

“Whichever one you want to talk to. It’s just me.” His heart is hammering unaccountably hard. He’s had very little to do with Fury until this latest fuck-up. Ever since Steve welcomed him fully onto the Avengers – and god alone knows how he convinced SHIELD to go along with it – Fury made _his_ opinion of having Tony on the team abundantly clear.   

“I’m here to talk to you, Stark.”

Tony can’t help the way his eyes flicker to Steve’s empty bed. Whatever new ammunition Fury might have against him, he trusts that Steve wouldn’t just make him take the blows now, not after he picked him over Barnes. Still, he pulls himself up straighter and puts the tablet aside, glaring at Fury. “It’s Cap’s team. You can’t pull me off the Avengers without his say-so. And I passed my psych thingy, which is better than _your_ boy is managing.” The twinge of guilt comes too late to stop the oblique attack on Clint.

“You passed your evaluation, Stark, because you happen to know the psychology textbooks better than most of my department. In fact, I believe your lab partner has contributed to more than one of them. That is not, however, what I am here to talk to you about.”

Tony waits, his whole body tense, but he forces himself to silence.

“We need to set up a meeting between SHIELD and an SI representative to renegotiate the possibility of Stark security for the helicarrier.”

Tony blinks. “What?”

Fury’s scowl deepens. “Don’t make me say it again, Stark.”

“I- what… but… thought you didn’t want…” Tony tries to make his voice mocking, like he’s forcing the admission. Mostly, he’s aware that he sounds pitifully bewildered.

Fury’s scowl lightens to a sardonic mask. “As it turns out, Hammer’s an incompetent fool. Who knew?”

Tony can’t stop his answering half smile. “I knew.”

“Well,” Fury acknowledges with a wry tilt of his head, “you _are_ a genius.”

“And Natasha knew.”

“Nothing beats personal experience with a guy.”

“And the guy who cleans Hammer’s pool kn-”

“Stark!”

Tony falls silent at the barked command, but the irreverent smile still touches his lips, and Fury is still wearing the not-as-scary-as-it-could-be version of his scowl so he’s safe for now.

“Stark security?”

Tony pauses, weighing all the responses he could possibly give. “…Yeah. No problem. Pepper’s in the waiting room, have her set a meeting up and I’ll have something for you in a few days.”

Fury nods. “Thank you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have-”

“Wait, what? Actual gratitude from the director of SHIELD? Do we need to have your blood alcohol levels checked, Fury? Are you drinking on duty?”

The smile Fury turns on him is more terrifying than any glare Tony’s ever seen, and he’s seen some of Pepper’s best ones. “Mr Stark, do you know what I am allowed to do to someone suspected of having contraband on my helicarrier?”

Tony’s fingers contract around the tablet, abruptly aware that he’s not, in the most technical sense, allowed to have it. He shakes his head slowly, eyes never leaving Fury.

The smile widens. “Would you like to find out?”

Later, Tony will freely admit to squeaking slightly. A smiling director Fury is the most terrifying thing he’s ever seen.

The smile disappears, and Tony can’t help the sigh of relief at the return of Fury’s normal, irritated expression. “Then I’ll see you at the meeting, Stark. Don’t be late.”


	17. Steve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: The team is slowly healing and starting to come together, but surprise visit from Loki that forces Tony and Steve to depend on one another may force both of them to give more than they are willing. Fourth part of First Impressions and Second Chances.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG-13  
> Disclaimer: Not mine unfortunately, though considering what I put them through, probably for the best.  
> Warning/Spoilers: ANGST, hurt Tony, hurt Steve, mindfuckery, swearing. On a more serious note, some of you will have noted this is warning for graphic violence and death, I don’t want to say anything more and ruin the surprise but I don’t want to stomp on anyone’s triggers either. If those things will upset you, this is probably not the fic for you, but please bear in mind, that not everything will be as it seems…  
> Genre: angst, hurt/comfort, gen, pre-slash (no, I’m still not announcing the pairing), slightly better friendship, though still not at the Avengers family stage yet.  
> Beta: Melpemone  
> A/N: There has been an incredible (and flattering) outpouring of response for this series. In the past, I have always tried to respond to every single review, but the volume of comments for this is such that I really don’t have time any more. I will try to respond to as many as possible, and please know that every single comment is read and appreciated. Thank you so much. You may have also noticed there’s a meta community posted under ‘misconceptions’ which can be found at either my works page or at cauldronofdoom’s, feel free to comment or discuss there.  
> The chapter title of each chapter will tell you who the POV is as, like in Cuts & Bruises, this has a rotating POV.  
> The title can be credited to AnonEhouse and a very odd conversation about Blake’s 7 we had in one of the discussion threads for the original Iron Man Yes.  
> Gifted to Kerravon, who has done such a wonderful job of podficcing this series so far. Thank you so much for being willing to put that kind of time and energy into my work. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.

**Maladjusted Geniuses and Mistaken Heroes**

Actually being discharged is anticlimactic. There’s never been anything _wrong_. Well… all right, even to Steve that sounds spurious. They _were_ trapped in a world of Loki’s creation, and the nightmares linger. But ultimately, practically, it was just a dream. Steve watched Tony suffocate to death in front of him, he felt Clint’s little wooden hands cut into his throat, the blood run, hotter than anything he’d felt in hours, down his frigid flesh…but there’s never been a mark on either of them.

None of SHIELD’s tests have shown anything. Even the gnawing hunger that had plagued him despite the ability to replicate oven warm, burned loaves had had no physical ramifications.

It’s weird and disorienting, but at the same time he’s so very glad. With no physical reminders, there’s nothing smacking Clint in the face with the fact that he unwilling hurt people he cares for under Loki’s control _again_.

At least Clint seems to be dealing with it better this time around. Whatever Agent Coulson had said to him, he’s at least _talking_ to his assigned psychologist now. It makes guilt thrum, hot and thick in Steve’s stomach, to realise how badly he had failed Clint as well as Tony, by not taking advantage of the support that had been available to him after the first time.

Steve takes a deep breath and pushes that unproductive thought aside, focussing instead on the bright clean relief, as he pulls on the pants Bruce had been kind enough to bring for him. He thinks about getting out, about going _home._ Tony gives him a startled and slightly – he hesitates even to _think_ it about _Tony Stark_ – shy smile when he shares that sentiment.

“Home, Cap?”

The guilt, like a scar that didn’t heal right, will probably always be there. But it isn’t a white hot flare that almost brings him to his knees now, either. He offers Tony a lopsided smile of his own. “Yeah. Home.” He doesn’t say anything else. He doesn’t need to.

Tony glances down and away, turning over his tablet in his hands for a second, quiet in a way he rarely is.

“You guys coming or you want me to tell the medical staff you’ve moved in permanently?” Clint hollers from the hallway. 

Tony sniffs affectedly. “Oh, as _if_. I own garages better than this dump.”

“Wouldn’t let Director Fury hear you say that, Stark.” Agent Coulson says, appearing silently next to Clint, Natasha hovering behind him like a red-headed shadow. “He’s very proud of this place.”

Tony’s smirk only widened. “Fury likes me. We’re buddies. I’m replacing his security.”

Tony probably thinks he sounds sarcastic and nonchalant, but Steve can clearly hear the notes of pleasure and pride that Fury’s capitulation have obviously brought him. He meets Clint’s eyes for just a split second, and then they both look away.

Tony hasn’t noticed the moment. Instead, he’s pushing past the SHIELD agents and striding purposefully out of medical, greeting Bruce enthusiastically and immediately starting to talk about something which contains the words ‘particles’ and ‘geometric’ and ‘fusion’ and ‘polymer’ too many times to hold his interest. Instead, Steve turns a slight but genuine smile on the others, still waiting for him. “Shall we?”

Together they follow Tony, who breaks off his rambling science monologue when he sees their transport. “Happy brought the limo? Awww, he must love me, he hates the limo.”

“Get in the car, Stark.” Bruce prods him in the small of the back, laughing. “I want to go home too.”

Tony falls in first, Bruce clambering in after him and their two dark heads immediately going together to continue their discussion, Tony’s hands excitedly sketching in the air. Thor follows, bouncing a couple of times and making the whole car shake before declaring a fondness for “This car of unusual size,” and reclining regally.

Natasha laughs and ducks under Coulson’s arm, still holding the open door, to sit next to him, pulling Clint in after her. “It’s like going to prom,” Clint says, failing utterly to hide his awe under the snappy words. “Stark, take us somewhere classy.”

“Sure,” Tony says easily and leans forward to tap on the glass, “Happy? Take us to a sit-down Burger King. Barton wants to go somewhere _classy_.”

“Hey, I’m an international super spy. I don’t just eat drive through. I know classy,” Clint protests, but Steve doesn’t hear the rest.

Agent Coulson pushes him into the car and follows, closing the door behind him. He leans over and states, in a quiet, level voice that still efficiently cuts off the burgeoning Stark vs. Barton snark fest: “No. We are all going back to the tower where food has already been ordered and we are going to do something _nice_ and _normal_ and _quiet_. Board game night.”

Steve blinks, but doesn’t object. He’s been a soldier too long to argue against that note of command unless he has more of an issue than- wait? What?

Tony has no such inhibitions. “Pffft. No. That’s lame. I’m going to drink about seven pints of coffee and then get down to my workshop. It’s been _weeks_ -”

“Four days,” Natasha interjects and is roundly ignored.   

“And I miss my robots.”

“No,” Agent Coulson says sternly. “You will be participating with the rest of us, and this is the first time all of you have been in the tower whilst all, simultaneously, being Avengers. We are going to celebrate.”

“With _board games_?!”

“Yes, Stark. With board games.”

“But-”

“You’ve just been released from medical. Let’s not start this by me threatening you with my taser.”

Tony’s bottom lip jut mutinously.  “That sounds dirty.”

“We’re playing Monopoly,” Bruce says, smiling serenely.

Tony makes a disgusted noise and thwacks his head against the window. “I hate Monopoly. If I start playing with real money, can I have all the little hotels to start?”

“No.”

“But-”

“It has to be Monopoly,” Bruce says, calmly overriding Tony’s increasingly shrill protests. “Steve will wipe the floor with all of us at Risk. Natasha will know who the murderer is in Clue before we even open the box. The Other Guy hates Mousetrap – don’t even ask, he just does. If you think I’m playing cards against you or Clint, you drastically underestimate my intelligence. Pepper and Coulson would own us all at Scrabble, and Thor doesn’t know how to play anything anyway. So, Monopoly.”

Tony’s sulky look deepens. “But-”

“Tony. No. We are playing Monopoly.”

Tony glares at him, before turning thoughtful. “Waaaaait. This is too… You _planned_ this. This wasn’t a surprise announcement for you.”

“Coulson let me choose the game if I helped convince you.”

“That,” Tony splutters for a second, “that’s so _unfair_. I want to choose the game.”

“Which game?” Agent Coulson asks calmly.

Tony considers. “D&D.”

“What’s-” Steve starts, confusion furrowing his brow.

Clint talks unapologetically over him, leaning forward to see Tony so fast that Natasha gets an elbow in the ribs. “No. Absolutely not. The fact that you even suggested it tells me that you know how to break the game.”

“The fact that you even said that tells me you can too, Barton.”

Clint scoffs and puts an arm ostentatiously around Natasha, pulling her close. “I have a girlfriend. A super-hot, super flexible, ballerina girlfriend. I don’t have to get my jollies playing D&D.”

“I have- okay had a- I am shocked, Barton. Shocked and appalled that you would contribute to such stereotypes.”

“So you’ve asked Pepper to play then?”

“I- That’s completely different.”

“How?”

“It’s a genius thing, don’t worry your pretty little head about it.” Tony looks around the car and sighs. “I’m playing Monopoly, aren’t I?”

Bruce pats his arm sympathetically.

It’s Steve, unrepentantly grinning, who says, “Yeah.”

Tony huffs again, but there’s amusement obvious in his eyes as they slide off Steve and behind him, locking onto Agent Coulson. “Can we play on my Star Wars Monopoly board, Agent?”

Agent Coulson gives the absolutely-not-a-smile he gives when things are going his way. “I suppose so,” he says magnanimously.

“Excellent. I want to be Han Solo!”

A scuffle immediately breaks out between Clint and Natasha as she – loudly – insists that she refuses to be stuck playing Princess Leia.

Thor sticks a finger into Bruce’s armpit to make him giggle as the other scientist catches Tony in a headlock for insisting he be something called a wookie. Agent Coulson turns a pleased, if slightly baffled, expression on Steve. “Is it always like this?”

Steve feels his own smile broaden. “God, I hope so,” he says, as the car stops outside the tower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, that concludes the first story arc of this series and also the gen part of the series. Parts 5, 6 and 7 will be slash ship heavy. The next part to go up will be the Clint POV bonus feature that acts as a companion part to this story. I advise anyone who wants to read that to check the tags carefully, it's fairly dark. However, it is a companion piece to this and, as you can see, everybody lives.
> 
> Can I also just take the opportunity to thank everyone who has stuck with this series for so long. The reviews and general love this story have received have meant the world to me.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[PODFIC] Maladjusted Geniuses and Mistaken Heroes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1155807) by [kerravon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kerravon/pseuds/kerravon)




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